


Love You Like I Should

by athena_crikey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Friendship, Homophobia, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stalker, Whump, future!fic, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: In his last year of university on track to start in the V-League, Yuu starts receiving possessive letters and silent phone calls. Then things escalate.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 86
Kudos: 271





	1. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, apparently my reaction to quarantine is to write endless AsaNoya?

It starts on Valentine’s Day. 

Asahi finishes up at work around 7 and heads home, chocolates for Yuu already secreted away beneath his summer clothes in their shared closet. Yuu doesn’t care too much about romantic holidays but Asahi thinks it’s important to show affection, to remind Yuu that he’s beyond a doubt the most important person in Asahi’s life. And he knows that, whatever the occasion, his boyfriend will be thrilled by a surprise. 

He stops at the mail boxes in front of their building on the way up, grabbing some flyers and a letter addressed to Yuu. He tosses them all on the table when he gets inside and gets started on heating dinner – Yuu will be home from practice soon, and he’ll be hungry. 

They’ve taken to eating late. Asahi’s not home until after 7 most nights, and Yuu’s doesn’t get home from practice until nearly 8. It always amazes Asashi that Yuu can do a full day of classes, four hours of practice, and still have energy to spare when he gets home. His stamina is incredible for his size, his spirit indomitable. He’s graduating from university this year and has a pro slot lined up starting April, and Asahi knows the grind of the pro circuit won’t have a foothold with Yuu. 

He’s less sure how _he’ll_ cope with it. Having Yuu home with him every evening, in bed with him every night, has been a dream he would never have believed could come true back at Karasuno. Once Yuu’s gone pro he’ll be at away games all across Japan, will be living a wild life on the road with a team of young men while Asahi keeps trudging along in Tokyo. 

Asahi sighs and wipes his hands on a dish cloth, leaning back against the tiny kitchen’s single counter. He knows it’s a silly fear, knows Yuu’s crazy about him – he tells him so at every opportunity. 

He’s just setting out the plates when he hears Yuu’s key in the lock. The libero bursts into the tiny Tokyo apartment with a wide grin: “Asahiiii!” He’s got a single red rose in his gloved hands. Asashi smiles; he’s sure Yuu would have bought a dozen or even two, but money is tight. They live their lives with little gestures rather than grand ones and rely on their ardour to make up for it. “For you,” he proclaims, coming into the kitchen and handing Asahi the rose. 

“Thank you,” says Asahi, and bends to kiss his upturned lips. Yuu sneaks a hand down his back and beneath Asahi’s belt, and Asahi pulls away, smiling. “Dinner first, or it’ll get cold.”

“Who cares? I want you, not your stir fry.”

“You won’t feel that way when it gets all cold and chewy,” replies Asahi from experience. 

Yuu makes a face but picks the rose out of Asahi’s hands. “I’ll take care of this.” He looks through the cupboards for a vase and pours some water into it, crossing to the table to place it. “Mail?” He rips it open and glances at it. “Huh.”

“Yuu?”

“It’s a fan letter. All about my amazing plays and how I rock on the court.” Yuu glances up at him and waggles his eyebrows, grinning. 

“Well, they’re not wrong.”

“Very true. It’s just signed ‘Your Fan.’ No return address; I can’t reply.” He turns over the page, shrugs, and puts the paper down on the table. “Could’ve been that televised game against Waseda. I kicked some serious ass.” He returns to the kitchen, throwing an arm around Asahi’s waist and pressing himself to his side. “We gonna eat? ‘Cause you know I’ve got some plans centred around devouring you afterwards.”

Asahi smiles and opens the rice cooker. “Save room for dessert – there’s chocolate,” he says.

“Mm.” Yuu puts his head on Asahi’s shoulder. “Almost as sweet as you,” he says, and reaches in to pick out a grain of rice. Asahi watches, eyes shuttered, as Yuu licks it off his thumb. His tongue runs over his lips afterwards, slow and sensuous, his hip pressed up against Asahi’s ass. Asahi feels the ache of arousal settle low in his groin, hot and heavy. 

“Yuu…”

Yuu’s clever fingers run over his waistband, tucking in under his belt and loosening it. He looks up, amber eyes shadowed by heavy lashes, just a sliver of playful amber shining through. “How about just a quick round?” he suggests, tugging Asahi’s belt open one-handed while his other hand works its way up Asahi’s chest beneath his shirt. 

Asahi swallows as the weak threads of his composure snap. Then he’s letting Yuu press him up against the counter, the libero kneeling in front of him and opening his pants. His elbows shove the rice cooker back, the stir fry slowly growing cold on the stovetop as his breathing quickens. 

The letter ends up in the recycling bin, forgotten.

  
***

Next week, though, there’s another one. The writing is the same but this time the envelope’s stiffer, not just paper tucked inside it. Asahi brings it up to the apartment along with the take-out sushi he bought for dinner. In exchange for his providing meals Yuu does the laundry and cleans the dishes, two tasks that can be done almost anytime, his schedule busier and less reliable than Asahi’s. They split the cleaning, Asahi a regular tidier while Yuu cleans in fits and spurts. It’s not perfect, but from what Asahi can tell it’s a better division of labour than many have. Suga’s always complaining about Daichi’s slovenly habits when it comes to putting away dirty clothes, although he’s always smiling as he does so.

Upstairs in the apartment Asahi slides the packs of sushi into the fridge and puts the envelope on the table, pulling out his laptop to see if he can get any replays of Yuu’s morning game. He finds some clips and queues them up, pulling a beer out of the fridge and settling down on the sofa to watch them.

Watching Yuu play always makes his heart heavy with pride. Asahi knows he played a part in Karasuno’s success in his third year, but it’s stand-out players like Yuu, Kageyama and Hinata that really amaze him. The saves Yuu can achieve these days, literally throwing his body across the court to dig a ball and landing in a perfect roll afterwards are incredible. He was playing first string in second year of university and has stayed there since, Chuo’s most valuable libero. Asahi can’t put into words how impressive he finds it, and how precious Yuu’s heart is to him. Yuu brings light and laughter into his life, his carefree attitude both shocking and refreshing. 

Yuu’s louder than life, and he brings Asahi out into his world. Asahi will always love him for that. 

“’Sup!” calls Yuu as he kicks the door open; Asahi winces as it slams into the wall. His sheer volume, on the other hand, is a constant file against his patience. 

“Yuu, the door!”

“Fuck the door – we won!”

He hasn’t finished watching the clips yet. “Spoilers,” he chides, but with a smile. Yuu’s grinning as he crosses the room, a plastic conbini bag in his hand. “The guys got me a gift, seeing as I saved the match point in _both_ sets.” He puts the bag on the table and pulls out two cans of chuuhai. He notices the letter as he does so, eyebrows rising. “Another one?” he tears it open and pours out the contents onto the table – three photographs and a letter. Yuu glances through the letter as Asahi picks up the photos. They’re of Chuo playing a match against Tokai, all three of the pictures focused on Yuu. 

“She says she’s a huge fan and wishes I could sign the photographs for her, and aren’t I amazing?” reports Yuu, puffing up his chest. He looks at the photos and frowns. He scoops them from Asahi’s hands and stares. “These are from today!”

“Quick developing,” says Asahi. Yuu picks up the envelope. 

“This wasn’t put through the mail – it was hand posted. Someone dropped it off here.” He looks up at Asahi. “Why not stop by to say hi if she’s such a big fan?”

“She?” asks Asahi.

“Well who else would be writing these? They’re a little… well, it’s clear she’s got a crush on me.” He hands Asahi the letter.

_Dear Yuu-kun,_

_I’ve been watching your matches. You’re really incredible you know – I’ve never seen anyone like you. You don’t get enough appreciation; everyone in the stands watches the spikers and the setters, but I’ve got eyes only for you. I’m your biggest fan. I wish you could sign these photos, I wish I could see you holding them after I’ve touched them… I wish a lot of things, Yuu-kun. Someday you’ll know how much you mean to me. Someday._

_Your fan_

“I don’t know, Yuu, but this looks like a man’s handwriting to me,” says Asahi, frowning. 

Yuu smiles, slipping it out of Asahi’s hand and tapping it against his chest. “Worried you’ve got a rival?” he asks. He circles around Asahi and tosses it on the table, then draws his slender fingers down the side of Asahi’s face, pulling his gaze away from the missive as he cocks his hips alluringly. “Don’t worry, you’re the only man _I’ve_ got eyes for.”

“You didn’t notice anyone at the game taking photos? Or trying to catch your attention?”

“Asahi, you know my entire focus is on the court during a match. A herd of elephants could trample through and I wouldn’t notice. Besides, everyone takes pics – why shouldn’t they? We love fans, they love us, perfect balance!” 

Asahi nods and allows Yuu’s enthusiasm to wash over him, his brightness transferring itself to Asahi like an electric current. Somehow, his smile is always enough to lighten Asahi’s mind. 

None the less later that evening when Yuu’s in the bath, Asahi takes the pictures and the letter and tosses them in the recycling with the rest of the junk mail. Something about them just makes him uneasy.

  
***

It’s late that night and they’re in bed, lights out and a faint cold draught coming in through the single pane window. In the distance Asahi’s half-sleeping brain can hear the trains arriving at the local station. He’s always been slow to fall asleep; now he snuggles down against Yuu’s delicious warmth, his nose just poking out overtop the duvet, and tries to unwind.

He’s just dropping off to sleep when the phone rings. Yuu’s ringtone, a heavy bass riff. Beside him Yuu stiffens, then reaches out and grabs his phone off the bedside table. “Hello? Hello?... Hello?” He looks at it, the white LED screen blindingly bright in the dark room. It casts his face in harsh lines of light and dark, drawing sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones and the quizzical line of his lips. He presses the red end call button and the phone goes dark. “Unknown number,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “No one there.”

Asahi closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

  
***

The phone calls continue over the next few days, late at night and early in the morning. All unknown numbers – all different. Yuu blames it on telemarketers and crank calls, and starts turning his phone off when they go to bed. Asahi considers asking Daichi about it, but bringing in the police seems excessive, seems alarmist.

The last letter comes a week later, this time not even properly addressed, just _To Yuu-kun_. Asahi frowns as he pulls it out of the mailbox, and vaguely considers dropping it straight in the paper recycling area in front of the building instead of bringing it into the house. But that’s ridiculous – it’s just stupid fan mail, just some person who has a mild crush on his boyfriend struggling to express themselves. Maybe they’re kindly and shy like him, too nervous to approach Yuu directly. He can understand that. 

“Oh, another one,” says Yuu when he comes home. “Hand delivered?”

“Yes.”

“I still think it’s weird they haven’t come by.”

Asahi shrugs. “Maybe they’re too nervous.”

Yuu grins. “Maybe they’ve seen you, my big handsome boyfriend, and gotten scared off.” He picks up the letter and opens it. The light-hearted grin slowly disappears as he reads it. 

“Yuu?”

The libero looks up, eyes thoughtful. “I dunno Asahi. Maybe I don’t want to meet them after all. This is a bit intense.”

Asahi takes the letter and reads it. 

_Yuu-kun,_

_You’re such an inspiration. Everyone around you loves you – it’s only natural. I saw it in Kojima-kun’s eyes when you rolled into the chair for him; I saw it in Kozume’s face when you backed him up on tossing. I want to be able to love you too. You never seem to see me, but I’m always there. I want to be with you, Yuu-kun. And then I would be able to love you like I should. You’re lonely – I hear it in your voice late at night. You need me too._

_Your fan_

“Yuu… this is scary,” says Asahi, looking up from the letter, his earlier thoughts of a shy, awkward follower evaporating instantly. “This is the person who’s been calling you in the middle of the night.”

Yuu leans against the table, his eyes thoughtful. “Maybe. Those things they mentioned about the team – about Shinta and Kenma. Those both happened during practice, not an actual game. Whoever wrote this attends our practices. Maybe is even on the team…”

Asahi crosses his arms, suddenly convinced. “We should talk to Daichi about it.”

Yuu looks at him sharply. “Daichi? It’s not that serious. They’re just awkward… Maybe one of the first years, or some member of the support staff. You know volleyball nerds, we’ve got no sense of tone.”

“Yuu, this isn’t normal – it sounds like a stalker. This person knows your number, and where we live.”

“Well that makes sense if they’re part of the team. Besides, you don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“I don’t think you should _have_ to. This is already almost harassment.”

“It’s just a few letters, Asahi. Weird, bizarre letters, but that’s it. They haven’t even come up to the apartment, haven’t said anything at practice.” Yuu plucks the letter from his hands and tosses it on the table where it lies, just an innocent piece of paper. 

Asahi fists his hands, his stomach knotting itself anxiously. “I don’t like it. It’s more than letters – it’s photographs, phone calls… It’s not nothing.”

“Look,” says Yuu, eyebrows sharpened in irritation. “Talk to Daichi if you want. But what’s he going to do? He’s a uniformed officer, not a detective. We don’t know who this person is, so we can’t even give them a warning. I’ll talk to some of the guys. Kenma and Kou. See if they’ve got any ideas; they’re pretty savvy. I’m telling you though, it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t let it get to you, Asahi.” But for once his tone isn’t reassuring, is gruff and irked. 

“Don’t throw out the letter. I want to show it to Daichi,” insists Asahi. 

Yuu stares back at him, eyes intense, mouth thin. “Fine,” he says. “I’ve got some studying to do.” He picks up his bag and crosses over to his chair, a strange recycle-store find in red leather with a wide seat and a tall back. He clambers into the chair, seats himself cross-legged, and digs his books out of his bag. He doesn’t look up. 

Asahi sighs and takes the letter, putting it on top of the fridge where it’ll be safe.

  
***

He talks to Daichi the next evening, even sending a picture of the letter to the policeman.

“I agree it’s unsettling, Asahi,” says Daichi. Asahi’s sitting on the couch waiting for Yuu to come home, hopefully in a better mood than yesterday. “But it’s certainly not criminal. Right now, even if you knew who was responsible I wouldn’t have any grounds to speak to them.”

“They’re calling Yuu at all hours of the night, Daichi!”

“You said it’s always from different numbers.”

“Yes – but surely there’s some kind of… of technology that allows that.”

“There is, but it’s not illegal. They haven’t made any threats, have they?”

Asahi sighs. “No.”

“Then there’s not much I can do. Nishinoya could change his number, but if he’s right and it is someone associated with the team they would find out about it pretty quickly.”

“I don’t like it,” says Asahi darkly.

“I appreciate that. But right now there’s not much to be done. And… you’ve always been a worrier.”

Asahi frowns. “You’re saying I’m overreacting?”

Daichi’s voice is calm, reasonable. “I’m saying you may be, yes. Once Nishinoya goes pro he’ll be in the limelight a lot more – on national broadcasts and in magazines, maybe even in commercials and on the radio. Sports players are celebrities, Asahi, and celebrities have fans. Often socially awkward ones who are slightly outside the boundaries of normalcy. You’re going to have to make your peace with that.”

His hand is tense, his nails cutting into his palm. Asahi closes his eyes and forces himself to relax. “Maybe I’ll have to accept it, Daichi. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No. But you would be happier if you did,” replies the policeman softly.

“Thanks for your help,” says Asahi stiffly, and hangs up.

  
***

The next evening is Friday, Yuu’s last day of classes for the week. He has team practice on Saturdays of course, but it’s just a six hour day instead of a twelve hour one.

Asahi was in a poor mood the night before, stalking silently around the kitchen and answering Yuu’s questions in terse monosyllable until the libero took himself off for more studying. They had avoided talking all evening, going to bed with stiff smiles and lying back-to-back. 

He wants to make up for it tonight. Has ordered out Yuu’s favourite, Indian butter chicken with rice and naan. He keeps it warm on the stove and puts on some low rock from his laptop, which also acts as their budget speaker system. Asahi even puts out one candle, not enough to be cheesy but enough to let Yuu know that he’s sorry. 

Eight o’clock comes and goes, Asahi reading a fashion magazine. 

Then eight thirty. Then nine. Frowning he checks his phone – but there are no messages, no texts from Yuu. He thumbs to their conversation and adds a new line, _Waiting, where are you?_

Sometimes the team goes out for drinks spontaneously, although Yuu’s pretty good about letting him know. He turns off the stove and eats an unhappy meal alone, half-upset and half-ridiculing. Yuu’s probably in some bar somewhere, his phone buried in his bag. He puts away the rest of the chicken in a container in the fridge and does the dishes for something to keep him occupied. Douses the single candle. 

There’s no reply to his text from Yuu. Ten o’clock ticks by and Asahi texts Kozume. _Is Yuu with you?_

The response comes back immediately: _No, not here. Didn’t he come home?_

Asahi’s stomach flip-flops. Palms sweaty now he replies. _No. Was he on his way home?_

_Think so. He didn’t say he had plans._

_When did he leave?_

Asahi taps the phone as he waits, knee jogging uncontrollably. _Usual time – 7pm._

It takes Yuu an hour to get home from campus. He’s two hours late. 

_Can you check with the team pls?_ replies Asahi.

 _OK._

He gets up and walks around, throat tightening, chest aching. The only refrain in his head is one word: Please. Please let him be alright. Please let him come home. Please let him walk through that door with a stupid grin on his face, alright and rueful. 

Please.

 _No one’s seen him_ , texts Kozume five minutes later. _Kuroo and I are going back to the gym to look for him._

Kozume and Kuroo live a ten minute walk from campus. But Asahi can’t wait that long. _I’m calling the cops,_ he replies. 

He calls Daichi, voice hoarse and breathless. “Daichi? It’s Asahi. Yuu’s missing.”


	2. Nightmares

Daichi and Suga arrive half an hour later, Suga stepping inside and immediately embracing Asahi. He smells of soft shampoo and shea butter: pleasant, comforting scents. “He’ll be okay – we’ll find him,” promises the former setter. 

“Any updates?” asks Daichi, shutting the door behind them. He’s wearing a canvas jacket and jeans – not his uniform. He ushers Asahi over to the table while Suga crosses into the kitchen and puts on the kettle. 

Asahi shakes his head. He’s shaky with anxiety, heart fluttering threadily in his chest. “I keep calling him – no answer. I checked Find My Friends and he doesn’t show up. The police can track phones that are turned off, can’t they?” His words are rapid-fire, sharp staccato beats racing off his tongue. 

“Sometimes,” says Daichi straight-forwardly, taking his shoulder and leading him to a chair. “We have to stay calm. He’s only a few hours late on a Friday night – he could be out with friends, or in a bar, or –”

“Or this person could have abducted him,” breaks in Asahi, picking the last letter up off the table and waving it. 

“Put it down, Asahi. We need to stop touching it. Do you have any of the other letters?” Daichi’s voice is calm and collected, just as steady now as he was as team captain five years ago. 

Asahi drops the letter and shakes his head, staring at it. At the handwritten words: _I want to be with you, Yuu-kun. And then I would be able to love you like I should._ He shivers and wraps his arms around himself tightly. Suga comes to stand behind him, puts his hand on Asahi’s shoulder. “I threw them out. I didn’t like them.”

“Okay. You said you talked to Kozume-kun. He said the rest of the team hadn’t seen Nishinoya since end of practice. Right?” 

“Right. He and Kuroo went back to check the campus; I haven’t heard from them yet.”

“What about Nishinoya’s other friends?”

“He has a few pals from class, but no one he would stay out this late with. He’s only really close with the team, and us.”

“Has he ever done this before? Stayed out late without telling you?”

Asahi swallows. In the kitchen the kettle clicks off and Suga’s comforting presence disappears. “Just once. In the first year we were dating. Tanaka came down to visit and they went out for a night on the town and he forgot to tell me. I was frantic by the time he got home at two am. He was really apologetic – and he hasn’t done it again since. But even then, I knew they were together and probably fine.”

His phone buzzes and Asahi scoops it up instantly, fumbling with it in his haste. New text message. He opens it and feels disappointment crash through his system: it’s from Kozume. _Checked gym, locker room, team office. No sign. Asked security, nothing unusual reported._

“Kozume says they haven’t found anything at campus.” Asahi looks up. “What now?”

Daichi looks back at him steadily. “Now I make a report.”

  
***

The police send a uniformed officer named Nakai who shows up while Asahi is drinking Suga’s special coffee – decaf laced with cheap scotch left over from New Year’s. He asks all the same questions Daichi did with a much less reassuring manner, his tone sceptical and his eyes patronizing. He has a notebook open but he takes very few notes. 

“And you’re sure that your friend –”

“His partner,” interrupts Suga firmly from his seat on the other side of the table, voice hard. 

“– That your _partner_ isn’t just having a night out? Enjoying the nightlife? It’s Friday night, he’s young and there’re plenty of clubs out there that cater to his tastes. Maybe he wanted to fool around a bit, have some fun…”

“Yuu is not _promiscuous_ ,” snaps Asahi, furious. “He is warm-hearted and loving and thoughtful. He wouldn’t be so late without telling me, and he would _never_ cheat on me.”

“Right,” says Nakai drily. “Keeping his mail, tracking his phone, calling the police when he’s a few hours late home. Maybe he just wanted some time away from you.” Nakai raises his eyebrows, fingers tapping on the table. 

Asahi feels his face go hot and red, his throat tightening. 

“A word, please,” says Daichi stiffly before Asahi can stutter an insulted reply. The former captain’s been watching the interview from behind, arms crossed over his chest. Nakai stands and the two of them retreat to the corner by the bathroom while Suga shuffles his chair over and leans in close. 

“He’s not _listening_ ,” says Asahi, voice rough, distraught. “This is all wrong and Yuu’s in trouble and that, that…”

“Ignorant asshole?” suggests Suga in a low, cold voice.

“That ignorant _asshole_ just thinks this is some squalid gay lovers’ tiff.” He wraps his fingers around the coffee mug, his hands trembling. 

“Daichi will take care of it.”

Asahi looks over to where the two cops are talking in low voices. Daichi’s face is dark, Nakai’s bored. Suga gets up to get more coffee and Asahi tries to listen into the low, gruff conversation between the cops but can’t make out much. Finally Nakai nods and returns. 

“Officer Sawamura informs me that Nishinoya-san will be joining the pro leagues for volleyball next year. As a budding professional athlete, it is _possible_ that he could have drawn unwanted attention,” he admits reluctantly. “I’ll take the letter back for fingerprinting, and I’ll open a file. But I think it’s very likely that Nishinoya-san will show up on his own by tomorrow morning.”

“So you’re not going to do anything,” says Asahi stiffly.

“I will open a file,” repeats Nakai, “And take the letter.”

“Can’t you at least trace his phone?”

“That’s a serious invasion of privacy, Azumane-san. We can’t explore that possibility until it’s clearer that there really is something untoward happening here.”

“What are you waiting for? A ransom note? We don’t have any savings – this isn’t money. Yuu’s been… been _taken_ and…” he can’t continue. All he can think about is Yuu in the back of some truck tied up and terrified, of him being beaten, being _raped_ … His throat closes up and refuses to let his words through, dry sobs coming out instead. Suga hurries back and throws an arm over his shoulder. 

“Nishinoya would never miss practice,” says Suga over his head while Asahi tries to control his breathing, his lungs burning with unshed tears. “If he doesn’t show up for tomorrow’s session I think you need to consider that something serious has happened.” Practice on Saturdays starts at nine. It’s past eleven now – that’s another ten hours away. Asahi presses his eyes closed in despair. 

“In the meantime, I’ll come with you and help with that report, shall I?” offers Daichi, in a tone that makes it clear refusal is not an option. “Koushi, you’ll stay here?”

“Of course.”

Asahi can’t say anything. Can’t force the words out of his throat. All he can do is open his eyes and stare at the letter on the table, until Nakai puts on a pair of gloves and carries it away.

  
***

It’s after midnight. Suga runs a bath for him, and while Asahi soaks and tries to remember how to breathe he does the one task Asahi is far too terrified to perform: he calls the hospitals. Asahi can hear him out in the main room, voice quiet and calm, making phone call after phone call. Asahi can’t imagine having to ask again and again if Yuu’s been brought in, if they have any unidentified patients fitting his description – or any unidentified bodies. 

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. The last time he saw Yuu they were hardly speaking. The morning after his frustrating call with Daichi Yuu had left without saying goodbye, up and gone before Asahi woke. He should have trusted his instincts, should have told Yuu to be careful – should have made him come home with one of the guys from practice.

But Yuu had said the letters were likely from someone _at_ practice, maybe even a teammate. Someone Yuu trusted, someone Yuu would have had his guard down around. A rough, feral groan escapes his throat and he buries his face in his hands.

There’s a knock at the door. “Asahi? I think I’ve called them all. No one’s reported a patient matching Yuu’s description.”

He lowers his hands into the hot water, taking a deep breath. He’s not sure whether to be relieved, or even more terrified.

  
***

Asahi hardly sleeps that night. Suga makes him lie down, the former setter settling himself on the floor with the spare futon in an old too-big t-shirt of Asahi’s. Asahi keeps checking his phone even though in the silent apartment he would hear it the moment buzzed. Watches the clock tick past one, two, three. He keeps rolling over onto Yuu’s side of the bed, face buried in the libero’s pillow smelling his scent – citrus and pomegranate. It brings tears to his eyes that slide hot and silent down his face; he curls up beneath the covers and tries to stop the frantic thoughts of violence and death from circling in his mind. But he can’t, all he can think of is the bad things, the worst things, of blood and bruises and broken bones and cold, pale skin on a mortuary table… 

Sometime around four Asahi falls into an exhausted stupor from which he wakes at seven, the cold metallic taste of fear in his mouth. 

Yuu’s side of the bed is still empty. Asahi lies there, staring at the indentation in Yuu’s pillow. He hadn’t really believed Yuu would arrive, would just walk in late and hung-over and chagrined. But he had hoped. 

He closes his eyes and, for a few long seconds, stares into the darkness. It feels horribly like the darkness is staring back, hungry.

  
***

Suga’s already up cooking breakfast when he does get up, the former setter chopping fresh tofu into cubes for the miso. The kitchen is warm and smells of savoury soup and black coffee. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday; they’re rumpled and creased, but Suga himself is bright-eyed. He looks better than Asahi feels. “Daichi texted – he says he’s called Nishinoya’s coach and is having him put pressure on the Tokyo Metro to take this seriously. Chuo’s volleyball team is nationally ranked; his word carries weight.”

Weight Asahi’s doesn’t. Right now he doesn’t care – whatever it takes to get Yuu home safely. He crosses hurriedly into the kitchen, mouth dry. “And? Any news?”

“Not yet. Daichi is trying to get himself seconded to the investigation, presuming there is one. We’ll have to be careful and keep a low profile on our relationship with him; as a close friend he shouldn’t really be eligible, but he’s popular and competent and he does have the background. He thinks he stands a good chance.”

“Good,” whispers Asahi, nails digging into his palms, thinking of the arrogant asshole from last night. 

“No school today, so I can stay as long as you need.”

“I want to go to Chuo, talk to the team.”

“You should leave that to the police.”

“They’re his friends, Suga. His team. And… one of them might have done this.” He stares at Suga firmly. They both know that a team is more than friendship, more than cooperation. Is family. And if one of Yuu’s family hurt him, Asahi won’t rest until he’s found out and cast out. 

Suga sighs, then nods. He tips the tofu into the soup and wipes his hands on a cloth. “Okay. Breakfast first, though. You need to take care of yourself, Asahi.”

Asahi passes a hand through his lank hair. “Thanks. I’ll take a shower and get dressed.” 

Suga smiles softly. “I’ll be here.”

  
***

Asahi arranges to meet Kozume in front of the Chuo University Shinjuku Ichigaya campus gymnasium, the gym used by the men’s volleyball team, at 8:30. When he arrives with Suga he’s surprised to see Kuroo there as well. The former wing spiker is looming over his boyfriend, dark eyes sharp; Kozume, for once, isn’t on his phone. He looks up as Asahi and Suga approach, his pale face hesitant.

“Azumane-san. Have you heard anything?”

Asahi shakes his head. Kozume’s cat-like eyes stare up at him, looking even more timid than usual. “I’m sorry,” he says. Kuroo puts his hand on Kozume’s shoulder. 

“We’ll find him, Azumane. Kenma’s got friends all over the net – even on the black web. The shit they know – you’d be amazed.”

Asahi nods tentatively, then looks back to Kozume. “I asked to meet you because I want to talk to the team. I want to ask for their help. I hoped you could help with that.”

“Coach called us all in for a nine o’clock meeting. Everyone knows Noya’s missing. If you want to talk to the team beforehand I can call them in. A lot of us are here already.”

Asahi opens his mouth to tell Kozume that his teammates might be suspects, likely are suspects. But he swallows the words instead. If whoever took Yuu knows that Asahi suspects them, knows that the police suspect them, who knows what they might do. Better to keep the secret for now. So all he says is, “Thanks, Kozume.”

The setter leads the way behind the gym into the small building that houses a space used by several of the sports teams for their meetings and planning sessions. It’s a low-ceilinged tatami-floor room smelling of sweat and socks, with a TV mounted on one wall and long, low windows letting in the winter morning light on the opposite. There are about ten men already in the room, players who arrived early or support staff.

And, in front of the TV, are two uniformed policemen and one in plain clothes. One of the uniforms is Daichi. He looks across as Asahi and Suga enter, and blinks. 

“Uh oh,” mutters Suga, and before Asahi can say anything he turns and disappears. Daichi leans over and says something to the man in plainclothes, whose eyes snap to Asahi. He’s in his late thirties with dark slicked-back hair and a sharp face, lean and hungry-looking. He says something in reply to Daichi, who crosses the room to Asahi’s side.

“You shouldn’t be here, Asahi. We need to speak to the players.”

“ _I_ need to speak to the players.”

“We’ve opened a formal investigation. Inspector Takahashi is a good guy with a good rep. He’ll do things right. He’ll come by and talk to you after this. For now please go home.”

Asahi stares at him, eyes narrow. “Daichi, one of them –”

Daichi claps his hand on Asahi’s shoulder, hard, cutting him off. “You cannot be part of this investigation, Asahi. I’ll keep you informed, we all will. But you can’t question them – you shouldn’t even talk to them.”

“Daichi,” says Asahi, voice strained. Daichi shakes his head once, firmly, his stare ungiving. 

“Fine. Call me with an update, please,” says Asahi, recognizing Daichi’s immovability, and turns. Kozume gives him a little nod as he passes, the setter greeting Daichi quietly. The door closes behind him, leaving him outside in the cold.

Suga and Kuroo are both outside.

“- not letting him outta my sight until they find Noya,” Kuroo is saying to Suga, who nods. They both turn on Asahi’s arrival.

“Daichi kicked me out,” he says flatly. “Told me to go home.”

“Who was the detective?” asks Suga.

“Some inspector named Takahashi.”

Suga nods thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of him; he’s supposed to be clever. He’ll do a good job. Daichi’s right, we should go. There’s nothing we can do here.”

Asahi looks at him. “Suga, if I go home, I’m going to have to call Yuu’s parents. What can I tell them? What could I possibly say? ‘I was afraid something would happen, but I let it go?’ ‘I was too much of a coward to push Yuu to be careful?’”

Suga reaches out and catches his wrist, holding his hand in the cold March morning. “Asahi, this is not your fault. No one could have predicted this, not from a few strange letters and some crank calls. Hell, we still aren’t even sure what _has_ happened.”

“I knew something was wrong, I knew, but I just did nothing.” His voice is thin, reedy. His skin feels cold and clammy, his heartbeat a long way in the distance. All the nightmares from last night come pouring back into his skull like thick acid, eating away at his rationality. “Right now, anything could be happening to him – _anything_ – and I just…”

“Breathe, Asahi,” says Suga softly in his ear, turning him away from the sports meeting building. “Let’s go home. I’ll call a cab.”

“Take care,” says Kuroo quietly, Asahi hardly hearing him, barely aware of Suga’s arm around his shoulders.

All he can think about is what might be happening to Yuu even now.

  
***

Darkness fades to light. It’s a dirty, dingy kind of light, all streetlamps and second-hand stores. There’s a musty, painty smell – thick and chemical. 

Yuu stares up at the window for a long time, trying to piece together what’s odd about it. Light is struggling to filter through, and as he blinks languorously he slowly recognizes that someone’s put wax paper and chicken wire over the glass. Strange. He can’t imagine why. 

Also, his nose itches. He rubs it on the mattress he’s lying on – and where did they get a mattress from? It’s much softer than the one on his bed, old and sagging. It smells like sex and beer, old stale scents. He tries to bring his hand forward to scratch with and finds that he can’t. Twists his wrists until he slowly comes to the realization that his hands are tied behind his back. 

That tries to prompt a reaction but there’s a heavy fog in his brain, so heavy he can’t pull thoughts out of it. He rolls over onto his back but with his hands now pinned under him it’s uncomfortable and he rolls back onto his belly on the sagging mattress. Now he’s swaddled in a blanket, thick and warm. The room’s cold and he welcomes the warmth, sinking down into it, tired. 

This isn’t his apartment. At least, he doesn’t think so. It doesn’t look or smell like his apartment. And something important is missing.

“Asahi?” he mumbles, voice soft in his dull ears. There’s no answer. “Asahi?” he calls again.

Nothing.

Yuu lays his head down on the mattress and closes his eyes. Things will make sense in a while. Surely.


	3. Questions

“My name is Takahashi; I am an inspector with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police. I think that by now you all know that Nishinoya Yuu didn’t return home last night. Naturally, we all want him found safe as soon as possible. I’m here to ask some questions to help us find him.”

Daichi watches from behind as Takahashi speaks to the assembled players – some 20 men, Chuo’s first, second and third strings. The coaches and support staff are in another room being interviewed by Takahashi’s subordinate Sergeant Suzuki. Daichi privately agrees with the division of labour – it’s the players who know Nishinoya the best and who might have some idea about what’s happened to him. Daichi doesn’t miss the fact that Takahashi is careful with his words; so far there has been no official acknowledgement that someone might have taken Nishinoya. 

Takahashi continues, his back straight and his hands clasped behind it. He looks like a man giving a speech, looks _used_ to giving speeches. His confidence is reassuring. “First, I would like to ask your captain to describe what happened at practice yesterday evening.” 

Captain Mitsuya, a solid middle blocker with an even temperament, steps forward. He’s not particularly close to Nishinoya, but Daichi knows the libero respects him both for his play style and his captaincy. “I’m Mitsuya, fourth year student and captain of the volleyball team,” he says plainly. “Yesterday we met after classes at four pm as usual; Noya was on time and in good spirits. We warmed up, practiced drills, and played several full matches with rotating teams from all the strings.”

Takahashi nods. “Were any of your players absent?”

Mitsuya answers with no hesitation. After all, their schedules must be regular. “Two were excused the first hour due to late classes and showed up at five. Everyone else was here for the entire practice session.”

“Apart from the team and your regular support staff, was anyone else present?”

“We often have spectators – generally other students who are friends with the players, or occasionally family members. There were some yesterday. I don’t particularly remember anyone standing out.”

Takashi nods again. “Please continue, Captain.”

“We finished practice at 6:45 and had a meeting for ten minutes. After that, it usually takes between five and ten minutes to get changed. Noya catches the bus right afterwards and is usually in a hurry.”

“Was he yesterday?”

Mitsuya glances behind him and several of the other players nod. 

“So there was no particular activity planned for after practice?” presses Takahashi.

“I think some of the first years got together to watch videos, and a few of the third years have a studying group that met yesterday. Nothing Noya would have attended.”

“And nothing unusual happened at practice? Anything that might have upset Nishinoya-san?”

Mitsuya considers, then shakes his head. “No. You could check with our manager to be sure, but I believe Noya’s teams won three out of five practice matches. I think he would have liked to do better, that’s not unusual – Noya is very driven. But I don’t think he would have been upset.”

“Could he have stayed afterwards for more practice?”

“On any given night, yes, and he did sometimes. But I don’t think he did last night.”

Takahashi’s voice sharpens. “Why not?”

“Because we were talking about it before you arrived, and several members saw him leave at seven.”

“Who?” asks Takahashi, and four boys including Kozume raise their hands. “You saw him leave the building, or campus?”

“The building,” they chorus. One, a slight second year libero Daichi met once at a party, raises his hand again. “I saw him on the way across campus to the bus stop.”

Takahashi turns to him. “Did he arrive there?”

“I don’t know; I was going to the Economics building and split off about half way there. Sometimes we walk together; if I had gone with him…” the boy drops his head; one of his teammates throws an arm over his shoulder and mutters something reassuring. 

“And no one else saw Nishinoya-san after that?” presses Takahashi. The team members all shake their heads. 

“Alright. I would like you to split yourselves into three groups; my men and I will be taking short statements from you as well as names and addresses. If you remember any of yesterday’s visitors, please share that as well.”

  
***

One by one Daichi interviews seven of the players, most of whom he doesn’t know. He gathers names and addresses, then asks the questions Takahashi primed them with earlier: the names of any particular friends of Nishinoya’s, anyone with a grudge, regular visitors to practice or official matches. His interviews provide nothing apparently helpful.

He’s just wrapping up his final interview with the libero who was the last to see Nishinoya when he sees the door open out of the corner of his eye. Daichi turns and watches a campus security guard enter and wait by the door. 

In his gloved hands is a sports bag. 

Daichi swallows. He thanks the libero, who trots back to the rest of the team, and crosses to the security guard. 

“Found this, sir,” reports the guard. “Just now, in the shrubbery by the east gate.”

The east gate is where Nishinoya’s bus stop is. Daichi pulls on his gloves and carefully picks up the bag. There’s a label on it: Nishinoya Yuu, Chuo Volleyball Club. 

“Thank you; please leave it with me.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard leaves and Daichi looks up, catching Takahashi’s eye. The inspector has finished interviewing players and is making notes, but he sees Daichi’s glance and closes his book as he heads over.

“It’s Nishinoya’s, sir,” says Daichi, showing him the label. “Found by the east gate, where Nishinoya catches the bus.” He opens the bag and carefully digs through it. Nishinoya’s gym clothes and shoes are inside, along with some energy bars, a water bottle, and a magazine. No wallet or phone. 

“Get it to forensics. Do we have a fingerprint comparison for Nishinoya?”

“We can get one at his apartment, sir.”

“Alright. Meet me there at ten. You might as well call Azumane and tell him to expect us.”

“Yes, sir.”

  
***

In fact, sitting in the squad car after dropping off the bag, he calls Koushi. “How is he?”

There’s a rustle and the sound of a sliding door opening – doubtless Koushi stepping out onto the balcony for some privacy. “Not very good. He keeps trying to reload Find My Friends – you know he added us all at the same time last year. But Noya’s phone isn’t on.”

“We’ll try to trace it, but odds are it’s either been trashed or tossed.”

Koushi takes a breath. “Then you think someone did this? That he’s been kidnapped?”

“His sports bag was found on the campus grounds. He wouldn’t have ditched it willingly. Between that and the recent letters and phone calls, it doesn’t look good.”

There’s a pause. And then, quietly, Koushi continues. “Asahi just called Noya’s parents. You know they’ve never been fully accepting of him and Noya. They blamed Asahi for his disappearance. They say he must have introduced Noya to _undesirables_. Honestly, he’s a wreck Daichi. I don’t think he needs more stress right now.”

Daichi frowns. “I can’t keep this from him.”

“I know. But… be careful. He’s a mess, and his negativity isn’t helping things. And…”

“And?”

“He’s always had too much imagination for his own good. It’s so easy for him to imagine all the awful things – the worst things. And he is. Constantly. So please, don’t give him any more ideas.”

“I’ll try.” Daichi closes his eyes. He’s seen enough in his three years as an officer that he doesn’t need Asahi’s imagination to picture any number of horrifying scenarios. But he also has focus, and he uses it now to remember his job. “Takahashi and I are coming by at ten. You can’t be there. The inspector only knows that Nishinoya and I were in the same club in high school. He doesn’t know what that means.” That it means they’ll always be family.

“I know. I’ll go out and do some shopping.”

“Good.”

“And Daichi?”

“Mm?”

“Find him. Please.”

Daichi opens his eyes, expression hard. “We will.”

  
***

He arrives at Asahi’s apartment block just in time to see Takahashi and Suzuki pulling in ahead of him. Daichi parks the squad car and gets out, meeting his superiors on the sidewalk and escorting them up the white stucco stairwell. It’s an older building and there are water and rust stains on the stairwell walls; doubtless the price was right for a young couple just starting out. If Nishinoya makes it big at pro volleyball, or if Asahi’s design career pans out, they’ll soon be somewhere better. Daichi knows that’s what they’ve been hoping – been planning for. And now?

He shakes his head to chase away the morbid thoughts and arrives at the third floor. He lets the two plain-clothed detectives precede him to the door. Now that it’s full daylight he does a thorough check for hidden cameras in the hallway outside the apartment’s door – he doesn’t see anything. 

Asahi opens the door immediately after Takahashi knocks, and Daichi frowns to see the change in him. At the gym his face had been drawn, his demeanour worried and impatient. Now, hair half-tumbling out of a scraggly bun and face grey, he looks like he’s just risen from a sickbed. Like Nishinoya’s absence has taken a physical toll on him. 

“Azumane-san?” asks Takahashi; he nods. “I’m Inspector Takahashi; this is Sergeant Suzuki. We’re here to ask some further questions about Nishinoya-san’s disappearance.”

“Come in.” Asahi disappears into the darkened apartment and they follow. 

Due to the building’s age and undesirable location they were able to get a bedroom in addition to the living room. The whole space was clearly decorated by Asahi – Daichi knows enough to know that Nishinoya’s style of decoration is pin-ups and forgotten socks on the floor. The furniture is sparse and light-coloured, the curtains a cheerful periwinkle blue; Daichi remembers Asahi sewing them himself when they moved in two years ago. There’s a white cover on the small loveseat and blue cushions in the same material as the curtains; it’s very put-together. The dinner table stands in the open space near the entryway and seats four. It holds a candle, a cup of coffee, and Asahi’s keys. 

Asahi takes a seat at the table, looking up at them with wide, frightened eyes. Daichi is used to Asahi’s fears, used to seeing insecurity and panic stamped on the former-ace’s face. But the frozen, silent terror he sees now is new. It snaps something inside of him, taps directly into his year as Karasuno’s captain, his responsibilities for keeping the team sane and sound. 

But he’s not Asahi’s captain anymore, and Asahi’s not his ace. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” says Takahashi, pulling out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sitting; Suzuki seats himself beside his inspector. Daichi circles quietly over to stand between them and Asahi, far enough back to be inconspicuous to his superiors but close enough that Asahi will sense his presence. 

“Have you found anything?” asks Asahi quietly. 

Takahashi leans forward, weaving his fingers together and resting his hands on the table. “Nishinoya-san’s sports bag was found on campus in the bushes. His phone and wallet were missing.”

Asahi’s hands tremble. “He carries them in his pockets. His bag – does this mean…”

“Together with his absence from practice today, it means we are treating this as a potential kidnapping now, Azumane-san,” answers Takahashi carefully. Asahi swallows, his jaw working. “I’d like to ask you some questions. You’ve received three letters, is that right?”

“Yuu did. Yes, three. I threw out two of them.”

“Do you know when you received them?”

“The first one was on Valentine’s Day, I remember. The next one about a week later. The last one came on Wednesday.”

“And they were all hand-delivered?”

“I don’t remember about the first one. The last two must have been; there was no stamp.”

“Was there anything in the letters that might have identified the writer?”

“They mentioned events from practice matches, not regular games. And there were pictures of Yuu from a game, too. And they said… they said they were always watching him.” He raises his chin, eyes desperate. “Let me talk to the team. Please. Someone there must know who’s done this. If I ask them – if I tell them what’s happened, what this means… they couldn’t want to hurt him.” His voice dries up, raspy and breathless. 

“We’ve spoken with all the team members and staff. We’ve gathered a list of regular visitors to the club, and will be interviewing them. So far we haven’t had any information about anyone bearing a grudge towards Nishinoya-san – is that a possibility?”

Asahi blinks. “A grudge? Against Yuu? I don’t think so. If you knew him… he’s so positive, Inspector Takahashi. He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever known. Nothing gets him down, nothing _could_. He would do anything for his friends, and he thinks practically everyone is a friend. The second and third string liberos love him; he’s their mentor. And he’s on good terms with the other league teams.”

“Your relationship hasn’t caused any friction with his teammates?” asks Takahashi bluntly. 

“If anyone has a problem, they’ve never let on to Yuu. Well. A couple of last year’s fourth years tried to make an issue of it when we moved in together – that was in Yuu’s second year. But he got a first string spot and they didn’t, and the rest of the team shut it down. They’ve both graduated now and as far as I know Yuu hasn’t seen them since. I can’t imagine them coming back now to make trouble.”

Daichi can’t either, and Takahashi doesn’t press. 

“I’m sure you hear a lot about people – about victims,” Asahi chokes out the word, “who are universally popular. And I’m sure a lot of it isn’t true. But Yuu… his energy, his enthusiasm make him very easy to like. I don’t think he has an enemy in the world, Inspector. But I _do_ think there could be someone who liked him too much.”

“A crazed fan,” says Suzuki, speaking for the first time. 

“Yes. Someone obsessed with him, obsessed with being _with_ him.”

Takahashi watches Asahi, his narrow eyes thoughtful. “And you have no idea who that could be?”

“No! I’m at work all day; I usually can’t attend Yuu’s games. I wouldn’t know about regulars, or weird fans, or anything like that. And Yuu had no idea either; when he’s playing he’s got eyes only for the ball. He likes a crowd, of course, but he doesn’t need one. It doesn’t really make any kind of difference to him. He might play to the crowd if someone he knew was watching him like me or Su – someone from Karasuno,” stutters Asahi, obviously editing out Koushi’s name at the last instant. “But usually he just ignores them. If he hadn’t… if I had convinced him to be more careful…” Asahi looks down at the table, face tightening with pain, fingers drawing sweaty lines on the dark wood. 

“We’ll find Nishinoya-san. If what you think is right and he was taken by an admirer, he will be relatively safe. We should have the time we need to track him down.”

“And if they realize Yuu doesn’t care about them?” Asahi looks up, face stark in the dim daylight filtering in from the windows on the other side of the room. “Yuu’s honest – absolutely honest. He wouldn’t know how to begin faking affection for someone, not even if his life – his life…” Asahi’s voice chokes and he stands suddenly, crossing to the kitchen and running the sink. He fills a glass with water and drinks it, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. Slams the glass down on the counter, the thump echoing like a shot in the tiny apartment, his back to the police officers. “Please don’t assume he’ll buy you time. Please just… just bring him home.”

Daichi swallows thickly. 

“We will, Azumane-san.” Takahashi rises. “There’s one more thing.”

Asahi turns slowly, eyes wet. “Yes?”

“Nishinoya-san’s keys weren’t in his bag either. You should consider changing the locks here; you might not be safe.”

Asahi stares at him. “I don’t have any fear left over for myself, inspector,” he says, voice rough with unshed tears. 

“I can help with that, Azumane-san,” says Daichi, breaking in for the first time.

“If you would, Sawamura,” says Takahashi. “We’ll take our leave for now; I’ll be in contact regularly.”

Asahi nods slightly. “Thank you.”

Takahashi looks at Daichi and nods towards the door; the three of them leave together. Once the door’s closed, the inspector looks to him. “Did anyone take prints from the mailboxes downstairs?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then arrange it. And have them pick up a comparison for both Nishinoya and Azumane from the apartment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Sawamura?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get those locks changed.”

Daichi salutes, waiting until Takahashi and Suzuki have found the stairs and begun their trip down to place his second call of the morning to forensics. When he’s done he ends the call, knocks quietly on the door, and slips back inside.

“Asahi?”

Asahi’s curled on the side of the couch, crying. His face is red and wet, his breaths huge and choking, his hair a mess. Daichi suddenly wishes Koushi were here – his boyfriend is so much better at this, at comfort and sweetness and displaying just the right amount of steel for any occasion. But Koushi’s at the store buying God knows what, and won’t come back until someone calls him to give him the all clear. So Daichi comes and perches on the loveseat’s arm and rests his hand on Asahi’s head; the ace presses his temple against Daichi’s thigh, his body shaking. 

“It will be okay, Asahi. We’ll find him. It’ll be okay. Nishinoya’s stronger than any of us; he’ll pull though.”

“He’s so – _reckless_ – what if – what if – oh God…” 

“You’ve got to be strong. Hold it together for him. He’ll be back, Asahi, and he’ll need you in one piece.”

Asahi sniffs. “That’s what Suga said. I promised him – promised I wouldn’t – wouldn’t cry,” he chokes out. And then, unexpectedly, with a honking wet snort, “ _Fuck_.” He wipes his face against his sleeve.

Daichi tugs gently on what’s left of his bun, smiling softly. “I won’t tell if you don’t. But you’d better get cleaned up. I’ll call him and let him know he can come back. Okay?”

Asahi takes a deep, shuddering breath and sits up. “Okay.”

  
***

A soft rocking, gentle as a rowboat on a lake, the water lapping against its side. Yuu feels warmth against his face like kisses from the sun, smells cigarette smoke and sanitizer. There’s something wrong with that mix, something wrong with the closeness of the warmth and the smell. He tries to roll his head away and can’t, his nose pressed close against the warmth.

Skin. His face is pressed against naked skin. 

Yuu opens his eyes and squirms. His hands are free now, his mind clearer. He’s in a small room, the windows covered over with wax paper and chicken wire – he remembers seeing it before, the memory hazy and distant like a dream. And behind him…

He looks up and sees that someone’s holding him, embracing him from behind, his body leaning against their chest, his cheek pressed into the curve of their neck. He is absolutely certain it’s not Asahi. 

“Who – wha?” his muscles are heavy, his mouth struggling to form words. He tries to lift his hand and sees it twitch limply. There’s a set of handcuffs hanging from his left wrist. Fear pounds through him, sudden and icy, and it gives him strength. He tries to twist away and is caught by strong arms. 

“No, no, Yuu-kun,” whispers an unfamiliar voice. “You need to rest. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you.”

“Let go.” The words are slurred, weak. He tries to struggle free but his strength is kittenish. 

“Don’t get upset. I know you’ll need time to adjust. I’ve brought something to help. Just relax. Shh. Shh.” Yuu watches as one of the arms holding him reaches back and reappears with a syringe.

Yuu slams his head up into the jaw above him, tumbling away onto a soft mattress and then off onto a cold cement floor. He tries to push himself up but his muscles are limp, unreliable, and he can’t get his legs under him. His wrist is grabbed from behind and he falls back onto the mattress, sight blurring. He can’t make out the figure above him, just sees a tall form in shadowy clothes. 

Then the needle is slipping into his forearm, piercing his skin and injecting cold fluid. 

“Let go,” he whispers, but can’t fight anymore. His wrist is released, needle gone, and he falls onto the mattress. 

Slowly, the world goes very hazy. 

“Shh, shh,” say the waves, lapping against him. “You’ll be alright.”


	4. Alibis

Police work is mostly grunt work, and Daichi spends the rest of his day tracking down the regular visitors to the Chuo University Men’s Volleyball Team games. It takes him across three campuses and several wards, and for all that he tries to plan out an efficient route it’s evening before he’s managed to speak to most of the names on his list. They’re friends and family; classmates of the team members and siblings or parents who find it easier to stop by for part of a practice session than stay for an entire game, or whose favourite player isn’t a regular. Most of them know Nishinoya by name, but few have paid much attention to him – setters and spikers are always the main draw. 

Two are unavailable, failing to answer his calls, and there are a further five on his list that he simply doesn’t have time to see. At 7pm with the sky dark overhead and car exhaust rising like clouds in the cold March air, he sits in his car on the edge of the Tama campus calling the rest of the list and arranging to see them tomorrow. 

It feels like failure – and not just the failure to win but the failure to even _qualify_. He’s found out nothing of significance, isn’t a single step closer to figuring out who took Nishinoya. 

But when he returns to the office some forty-five minutes later, the topic of discussion isn’t the team’s visitors. 

“– further information is needed to eliminate him from suspicion,” Takahashi is saying as Daichi enters, slipping quietly into the conversation between the inspector, sergeant, and the other two uniformed officers who have been helping out. They’re standing around a white board, half of it obscured by Kitao’s wide back. The other half lists status updates: _no unknown prints on letters or mailbox; calls untraceable; Nishinoya’s phone untraceable; campus security camera footage review underway._

“He doesn’t have an alibi, sir. At least, not a good one,” replies Kitao. The sergeant is an older man who is quietly competent and without any visible flair at all. The other officers call him Old Faithful behind his back based on his habit of taking meticulously-timed smoke breaks at the same time every day. But Daichi would rather have someone slow and reliable than someone quick and half-assed. 

For a moment, Daichi wonders whether they’ve narrowed one of the other officers’ lists down to a suspect. Then the sergeant moves aside and Daichi sees the name printed on the board: Azumane Asahi. He swallows roughly, fingers tightening into fists. 

On the whiteboard beside Asahi’s name someone has written up:   
_Picked up dinner (Indian) at 6:50pm. No receipt.  
Home at 7pm, no contact with anyone until texts at 10pm_

It’s not his place to speak. He’s just a uniformed officer, not a detective and certainly not an inspector. But Asahi is the last person in the world who would kidnap anyone, much less Yuu. 

“What about the phone calls?” he asks quietly. “Azumane was there when they were received.”

Kitao shrugs, unimpressed. “Pre-programmed calls. No one spoke on them.”

“He struggles to program his microwave,” says Daichi. “He’s a fashion designer with no experience in digital technology. And he’s madly in love with Nishinoya,” he adds, mouth dry. 

Kitao starts to reply, voice gruff, but Takahashi raises his hand. He gives Daichi a considering look. “Love and jealousy go hand-in-hand. Azumane may have worshipped Nishinoya – just as the letter-writer appears to. Nishinoya’s a popular young man, good-looking and with a pro career ahead of him. And, according to the interviews, a little bit wild. His affections seem less certain. If Azumane felt betrayed by his lover, he might lose control.”

The inspector’s assessment of Nishinoya isn’t untrue. Nishinoya is startlingly handsome in a sharp-eyed pixie kind of way, and he’ll soon be famous. Will be touring around Japan, playing against other handsome young men and meeting thousands of fans. And professional athletes are not renowned for their fidelity. But… for some reason above all the kisses and the closeness and the years of tender moments Daichi’s witnessed between Asahi and Nishinoya, the libero’s actions from high school come back to him. 

He remembers Nishinoya standing straight-backed on the court, refusing to participate in the Golden Week training camp. Remembers Nishinoya’s complete clarity on the issue, unwavering, undoubting. Remembers him sacrificing his own opportunity to play the sport he loved, because Asahi was absent and playing without him felt like a betrayal. 

Even in high school, they had been so important to each other.

He looks straight back at Takahashi, gaze respectful but unwavering. “Nishinoya would never betray Azumane. His loyalties are absolute, especially to Azumane. And even if he were dumped, I think Azumane might take it out on himself, but not on anyone else.”

Takahashi leans back, arms crossed. “Prove his alibi, and we’ll remove him as a suspect, Sawamura.” He taps the text on the white board: _Picked up dinner (Indian) at 6:50pm. No receipt._

“Do we know which restaurant?”

“Sergeant Kitao spoke with him this afternoon. It was Flaming Lotus, near their apartment. So far, no one’s followed it up.”

Daichi nods. “Then I will.” He makes to turn.

“And Sawamura?”

Daichi pauses, glancing back. 

“Sergeant Kitao will come with you. This is your first major investigation, isn’t it?”

Jaw tense, he nods.

Takahashi smiles, his dark eyes sharp. “Then please don’t assume you know everything just yet.”

Chastened, Daichi colours. “No, sir.”

Kitao pushes off from the desk he’d been leaning against and walks over. “Smoke first. Then we go,” says Old Faithful gruffly.

  
***

Daichi texts Koushi while he’s waiting in the car. _Did Sgt Kitao call Asahi?_

He holds the phone in one hand, the other thumbing through the pages of his notebook while he waits for a response. He starts re-reading the notes from several of the interviews he conducted that afternoon.

_He came by this afternoon, why?_ replies his boyfriend when he’s on his third page of notes.

Daichi frowns, treading thoughtfully. He trusts Koushi with everything, but texting important details about the case would be a significant breach of regulations. _Just heard he spoke to Asahi this afternoon. Is he upset?_

_He’s quiet. Yes, he’s upset, but he hasn’t been talking much. He’s starting to withdraw, even from me._ Daichi can hear his boyfriend’s voice in the words, can hear the worry there. 

_Keep an eye on him, please_ , he texts, fingers moving slowly across the keypad as he tries to convey his concern without being specific. 

Koushi writes back immediately. _Did Kitao tell him something? Is there any new information? I was in the bedroom and he just said it was regular follow-up._

_No; nothing for now. I’ll come over later tonight._

_OK. Remember to eat something, Daichi._

_< 3_

He’s just sent the heart when there’s a knock on the glass and Kitao opens the door, sliding his bulk into the passenger seat. He’s one of those middle-aged men who hasn’t taken care of himself and has gone quietly to seed over the years as a consequence, wide shoulders and a big gut. He smells strongly of cigarette smoke. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve telling the inspector what to think,” he says, tone even. 

“I know these men. Surely inside information is always helpful?” replies Daichi, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life and he pulls out onto the street. 

“Most newbies would know to keep their mouths shut.”

“Most newbies haven’t seen the way Nishinoya looks at Azumane. I have. He’s not unfaithful, sergeant. And Azumane would never hurt him. We’re wasting time pursuing this angle.”

“Very certain, aren’t you?”

Daichi glances at the older man. “Yes. Problem?”

“You’ll get farther in this job if you leave the thinking to your superiors, Sawamura.”

“I’d rather the case get solved than slow us all down making friends, sergeant,” replies Daichi. 

Kitao snorts. “You’ve got backbone kid, I’ll give you that. Now where’s this restaurant?”

  
***

Flaming Lotus is in the same ward as Asahi and Nishinoya’s apartment. Daichi can’t stop wondering how Asahi’s doing, and how Koushi is managing trying to keep his spirits up. From the sounds of his texts, not well.

The restaurant is on the first floor of a three-storey building with office space above, a neon sign in the window depicting a flame-red lotus. There’s a bus-stop nearby; no doubt convenient for Asahi on his way home from work. 

“Leave the questioning to me,” says Kitao as they pull up; Daichi nods. 

The walls inside the restaurant are painted a cheery saffron orange, the satin upholstery a fresh aqua colour. There’s a smell of spice and sweetness that’s refreshing after the cigarette reek in the car. The restaurant is about half full, two waitresses moving around between tables and a host standing at the entrance. Daichi, looking around, notices the security camera mounted in the corner above the host’s lectern. 

Kitao produces his badge and the manager appears promptly at his host’s beckoning, taking them back to the tiny room that acts as his office. It’s very neat with a small desk, chair, computer, safe and filing cabinet. The three of them are crammed in like sardines, even with the manager sitting in his chair. The sweet smell of naan bread isn’t enough to disguise the smells of cigarette smoke and sweat pouring off Kitao. Daichi tries to edge away, pulling out his notebook. 

“We’re following up on a take-out order from last night,” says Kitao. “We need to know who picked it up.”

“Do you know what time, and what the order was?”

Daichi glances at Kitao who answers promptly: “A double order of butter chicken, picked up at 6:50.” 

The manager turns to his computer. He clicks through a few screens and comes up with a list of orders. “I can see two orders for butter chicken wrung in around 6:50. Both were paid in cash. No record there.”

“I noticed a security camera in the foyer,” prompts Daichi quietly. Kitao glances at him, then at the manager.

“Well? Do you have footage?”

“Yes, we keep 48 hours’ worth.”

“Can you bring it up from yesterday at 6:50?”

More mouse clicks, this time the manager exiting out of the billing software and into a multimedia program. He loads up yesterday evening’s feed and pulls the bar to 6:45. The camera is focused on the space just in front of the host, the back of his head and the computer screen visible. A couple comes in and disappears, then an older woman on her own. Then a young man who waits in the foyer and has an order given to him in a bag. 

The footage keeps advancing. No more customers, the host tidying the cards and menus on the lectern. And then, at 6:56, a tall figure.

“That’s Azumane,” says Daichi, relief washing through him in a searing wave. They watch the former ace pay and pick up his food. 

“We’ll need a copy of this footage,” says Kitao. “I’ll send someone over to collect it shortly.”

“Of course.” The manager bobs accommodatingly. 

“Thanks for your time.” Kitao nods towards the door, and Daichi leads the way out of the warm, pleasant-smelling restaurant into the cold outdoor air. 

Daichi waits until they return to the squad car to hammer home the obvious. “If Nishinoya was taken around seven, there’s no way Azumane could have done it – it’s an hour trip across town. Besides, Azumane would need a car to take him in, and he can’t drive.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t give us any better of an idea of who _did_ take him,” replies Kitao. 

Daichi’s momentary elation shrivels. 

“Still, you were right, and that’s something,” says the sergeant kindly.

But Daichi no longer feels any pride in clearing Asahi’s name.

  
***

It’s been over 24 hours since Nishinoya went missing. Daichi thinks about that on his way back to Asahi’s apartment after being dismissed for the day at 9pm. Thinks about all the statistics he’s read, all the training he’s received regarding missing persons and kidnap victims. Tries to reassure himself that this is different – this isn’t a hostage situation, isn’t a child abduction. Whoever took Nishinoya almost certainly wants him alive.

But accidents are terribly, horribly common, all the more so when tensions are high. Daichi can think of a dozen kidnappings that ended in a dead victim not because that was the intention, but due to accident. 

For Daichi, community policing has always been about helping people and correcting small wrongs. Giving directions and tickets, impounding stolen bicycles and enforcing traffic laws. He’s been trained for more, of course, but suddenly finding himself dealing with a kidnapping – and not just any kidnapping, but the disappearance of one of his best friends – he closes his eyes as he recognizes that he’s not coping as well as he would like to. Is starting to feel his confidence and optimism eaten away by the deep dark fear that he may never see Nishinoya again. At least, not alive. 

The subway speaker system announces his stop and he gets up, walking to the door. However dark his thoughts, he has to keep them from Asahi. That’s the least he can do.

  
***

“Daichi. Any news?”

Asahi greets him with those words as soon as the door’s opened. Daichi forces himself not to look away from the ace’s desperate stare. “Not yet,” he says. 

Asahi falls back, hope bleeding away to be replaced by a dull kind of despair, and returns to the love seat. Daichi enters, closing the door with its new locks behind him. Koushi is sitting at the table. He gets up and throws his arms around Daichi, his nose pressed to Daichi’s neck. Daichi closes his eyes and leans in, smells the soft scent of Koushi’s hair. “Did you find anything?” his boyfriend asks quietly, pulling away to consider Daichi, hands on his shoulders. 

“We interviewed most of the regular spectators. So far nothing significant has come up.”

“What about the letters?”

“No unexpected fingerprints,” replies Daichi, remembering the list on the whiteboard. “And no luck on tracing the calls.”

“And Noya’s phone?” asks Koushi.

Daichi glances at Asahi, sitting alone with his back to them; he doesn’t move. “Nothing,” replies Daichi slowly. Asahi’s silence, his disengagement, is worrying. “I’ve already arranged the rest of the interviews for tomorrow though. And we’re reviewing the security camera footage from the campus.”

Koushi nods. He looks tired, skin wan, eyes sunken. “You should get some sleep,” Daichi tells him.

Koushi smiles. “Tell that to yourself, Officer Sawamura,” he replies, brushing his thumb over the corner of Daichi’s tense mouth. “You’re getting wrinkles. Besides, I want to stay with Asahi.”

“You should go home,” says Asahi suddenly from the sofa. “Both of you should.”

Daichi turns. “Asahi…”

Asahi rises slowly, turning. His face is tense, his eyes dark. “You shouldn’t really be here. After all, I’m a suspect, aren’t I?”

Koushi stares at him, taking a step forward, out of Daichi’s arms. “Asahi? Don’t be ridiculous – of course you’re not–”

“Really?” Asahi cuts him off, but it’s Daichi he’s staring at. “Really? Because your sergeant was asking me where I was last night – who I was with, who could verify my story. They think I did this to Yuu. That I was angry, or jealous, or crazy, or _I don’t know what_.” He stops, voice choking, and takes a shuddering breath. Very quietly, he asks: “Is that what you think, Daichi? Is that why you’ve got Suga minding me?” 

Daichi pushes past Koushi and comes to stand on the other side of the love seat, its white bulk between them. But he can still reach out to grasp Asahi’s shoulders, and he does. “ _No_ ,” he says, unquestionably absolute. “I know you didn’t do this, Asahi. And I found the proof. You’re off the table as a suspect.”

While he’s speaking Koushi is slowly rounding the love seat; he makes it to Asahi’s side and puts a tentative hand on the ace’s elbow. “I’m here because I care about you, Asahi. Because you need help, and because we’re family. I’m not Daichi’s snitch.” He says it with a smile, but Daichi can hear the hurt beneath the words. 

All at once, Asahi’s face crumbles. He turns away sharply, eyes screwed tightly shut, his skin red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry Suga – Daichi. I shouldn’t have thought that. Shouldn’t have doubted. I just…” he groans, stumbling, and Koushi grabs him and pulls him down onto the love seat, sitting beside him and holding him while he shakes. 

“It’s okay, Asahi. It’s okay. Forget about it,” says Koushi softly. 

“I’m such an idiot,” hisses Asahi. 

“No, you’re just going through something no one should have to,” says Daichi. “Everyone’s doing their best to find Nishinoya. Let’s hope for some better news tomorrow, okay?”

Asahi nods weakly. 

Koushi looks up at him and gives a thin smile. “I’ll stay with Asahi tonight, Daichi. You’re on your own.”

He nods. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

He can’t help but wonder, though, whether there will be any better news.

  
***

Yuu wakes to the sharp, bright smell of orange juice. He blinks slowly into consciousness to find a cold glass pressed to his lower lip.

“You must be thirsty,” says a strange, unknown voice. And then, before he can think about it further, the glass is tipping upwards and juice is splashing against his mouth. He opens instinctively and it pours in, filling his mouth, both sweet and tart. He swallows hurriedly as more and more pours in, until he chokes and breaks away, juice slopping over his chin and onto his shirt. “Ara, how clumsy, Yuu-kun. Shall I clean it for you?”

He looks up in time to see dark eyes and dark hair and pale skin, and then a face is pressed against him, a tongue lapping at his chin. 

Yuu jerks away, sick and disgusted by the wet sensation. His muscles are like jelly, wobbly and cold. His hands are pinned together behind his back and his arms give out under him, dumping him down into the bedding beneath him. 

The stranger’s face looks down at him. His vision won’t focus properly, but it doesn’t seem familiar. Or does it? Has he seen it before?

“Who are you? Whaddya want?” he mumbles, trying to shove himself away with his legs and only digging himself deeper into the mattress beneath him. His thoughts are all muddled, his senses blurry. His heartbeat is dragging along in his chest, too slow. 

“I want to love you, Yuu-kun. And I’m going to. I told you you would be mine – now I’m going to take care of you.”

He stares upwards, trying to make sense of the words. His words are slightly slurred even in his dull ears: “Wha? Where’s Asahi? What’ve you done –”

A hand comes out of nowhere and slaps him, hard, across the cheek. His head snaps sideways, cheekbone aching. 

“Do _not_ say that name. He is nothing. I am here now, and you are mine.”

Yuu looks back slowly, glaring from beneath his brows. The same hand that slapped him rises to caress his cheek. “Ara, look what you made me do. Shall I kiss it better?”

“Only if you want me to be sick on you,” mumbles Yuu dizzily. He notices that there’s no more light filtering in through the windows; it’s dark outside. Nighttime. How long has he been here? How did he get here? Who is this maniac?

And, most importantly, is Asahi okay?

Yuu rolls over onto his side. He feels dull. His body seems far away, cold and heavy. His thoughts keep drifting away from him; already he knows he was wondering something, but can’t remember what. He digs through the mists of his memory with frustration; everything is illusive, intangible. 

Strong arms pull him in close, his forehead tucked in under a strange chin. He sees white – a white shirt, smelling of cigarette smoke and antiseptic: strong, ugly smells. 

A hand starts stroking his hair. The movements are strange and unfamiliar, at once too heavy and too cloying. Asahi doesn’t touch him like this. Asahi isn’t here. 

“It’s nighttime now, Yuu-kun,” sings the strange voice in his ear. “Time to go to sleep. Just close your pretty eyes, and soon you’ll love me too.”

Yuu doesn’t mean to close his eyes. But his body is heavy with exhaustion, his thoughts blunt. And before he knows it, there’s only darkness.


	5. Requests

Asahi’s woken at just past seven on Sunday by his phone ringing. He breaks away from his grey, restless dreams and into wakefulness sharply, grabbing the phone and accepting the call. Before he even has a chance to acknowledge his presence, someone on the other end is shouting.

“ASAHI-SAN! What’s happened to Noya-san? Is it true? Is he missing? I’ll help look for him! Should I come over? Are you okay?”

It’s Hinata, sounding frantic and breathless. Asahi opens his mouth to answer and hears a low, quiet voice on the other end say: “Breathe, dumbass. And put it on speaker.”

There’s a subtle adjustment to the audio quality of the call. “Asahi-san? It’s Kageyama; you’re on speakerphone. _Is_ it true?”

Asahi runs a hand through his loose hair. It’s still dark outside, and with the lights out the bedroom is painted in hues of navy and charcoal. “I… yes. It is. How did you hear?”

There’s a rustling sound. “It’s in the paper,” announces Hinata. “Front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun. I’m supposed to be reading it every day for my Polisci course, and – _ow_.”

“Focus,” interrupts Kageyama. “It says Noya-san was last seen on Friday, and that the police are investigating his disappearance.”

Asahi’s already moving into the living room; Suga’s still sleeping quietly on the futon laid down on the floor behind the love seat. Asahi pulls out his laptop and sets it on the table, waking it up. “That’s right. They were interviewing the team and associated students and family yesterday; someone must have leaked it to the press.” He opens his internet browser and pulls up the Yomiuri Shimbun. Sure enough, one of the top articles is _Disappearance of Chuo Volleyball Player_. He clicks on it and it loads a picture of Yuu in his team uniform, probably lifted from the Chuo website or some sports news site. The article is short, just a few lines about Yuu being reported missing on Friday and an ongoing police investigation, followed by some summary information about his history with the Chuo team. There’s one line at the end that says he represented Miyagi in the High School Nationals. 

“Does anyone know where he went?” asks Hinata. Asahi swallows.

“I don’t think he went anywhere, Hinata. I think he was taken.”

There’s a momentary silence on the other end of the line. Then Kageyama speaks, voice low: “Kidnapped? Why - ransom? You don’t have any money.” The words are blunt as usual, but also true.

“No. It’s… look, do you want to come over? I don’t think I can talk about this on the phone. Suga’s here too,” he adds, glancing across the room. Suga’s up now, doubtless woken by his voice, watching him over the back of the sofa.

“We’ll be there in half an hour,” says Kageyama.

  
***

Although still only in third year of university, both Kageyama and Hinata are sure-fire picks for the pro league. They’re each an incredible player with the skill and instinct necessary to excel, and they’ll go far – quite probably even to the Olympics. In short, they’re both nascent superstars of the sporting world. But when Asahi sees the two of them he still thinks of his gangly kouhai, of bruised knees and flying laps and two young idiots who had only two interests in the whole world: volleyball, and each other.

Despite the fact that they go to different universities, and will likely be recruited to different pro teams, Asahi will forever think of them as two sides of the same coin, in some ways identical and in others opposite. When he opens the door to them, Kageyama tall and lanky and Hinata short and compact, he sees the same expression on their faces: poorly-disguised fear. 

“Asahi-san!” cries Hinata, throwing himself at the former ace. He’s sixty kilograms of muscle, and Asahi staggers under the onslaught. Kageyama steps inside behind, shutting the door. 

“What’s happening, Asahi-san?” the setter asks. He’s quiet and stern-faced as always; unlike Hinata he’s blessed with the ability to hide his incredibly straight-forward nature. 

“Kageyama. Hinata,” greets Suga from the dining area, his smile slightly forced. “Come in. I’ve made coffee.”

Asahi peels himself out of Hinata’s grip and leads them in to the table where Suga is setting out coffee in the only four matching mugs they own. Hinata shovels sugar into his; Kageyama takes his with milk. Asahi, without much of a sweet tooth, takes his black. He takes a sip, very aware of Hinata and Kageyama’s eyes pinned on him.

“Yuu didn’t come home on Friday,” he says slowly. “For three weeks before, he had been receiving strange fan letters, and calls in the middle of the night. The letters make it clear that the writer was at his practices, watching his games. They give the impression that the writer is obsessed with Yuu,” he adds quietly, swallowing.

“So they don’t want money,” says Hinata slowly. “They want Noya-san. Is that it?”

Asahi nods once silently. 

“Well they can’t have him! We won’t let it happen! Kageyama and me’ll shake down everyone on his team, if that’s what it takes. We’ll get him back, Asahi-san!” Hinata’s indignant anger radiates from him as he slams his coffee down on the table, black liquid slopping over the sides of the mug. 

“Idiot, that’s what the police are for,” says Kageyama. And then, looking at Suga, “Can Daichi-san help?”

“He already is,” replies Suga, fetching a dish towel from the edge of the kitchen counter and mopping up Hinata’s spill with his usual serenity. “He’s part of the investigative team.”

Hinata looks around the table. “I think we should help too. Maybe we could put ads in the paper, or make posters…”

“Hinata, Noya’s not a lost dog,” says Suga gently. “And until the police decide to issue a statement, we need to try to keep this out of the papers.”

The orange-haired boy tilts his head to the side, confused. “Why?”

Suga pauses momentarily before answering. “Because someone out there doesn’t want him found,” he replies carefully.

“But –”

“Hinata,” says Suga, sharply, and the little blocker pauses. He looks up, wide-eyed and uncertain, and Suga gives him a little shake of his head.

“I’ll just go rinse that cloth before the stain sets,” says Asahi, taking the dish towel from Suga and heading into the bathroom. Behind him he can hear the three men whispering; he pauses in the doorway of the bathroom and listens guiltily.

“Hinata, Asahi’s really struggling with worrying about Noya right now. Please don’t bring up things that will make him feel worse.”

“But who cares what the bastard who took him wants? We should look even harder then!”

“Dumbass, Suga-san’s saying Asahi-san’s too fragile to think about looking for him.”

“I’m _saying_ ,” hisses Suga at both of them, “that we don’t know what’s happened to Noya. But it could be bad. Very bad. Asahi knows that, he doesn’t need to be reminded. So keep it positive, okay?”

Asahi steps into the bathroom and runs the water in the sink, soaking the coffee-stained towel in cold water. When he returns the three of them are sitting around the table looking far too natural. 

“I bet it’s not someone on the team who took him,” says Hinata as Asahi sits down. 

Kageyama glances at him. “Why’s that?”

“’Cause if Noya-san’s missing he can’t play, and no one on the team would want to hurt his career.”

“Or theirs,” suggests Kageyama thoughtfully. “Noya-san’s by far and away Chuo’s best libero.”

It’s not an angle Asahi’s considered. But… “I imagine it’s someone incredibly selfish,” he says slowly. “Someone more interested in getting what they want than what Yuu wants.”

“Obsession,” says Suga softly. “Not love.”

“No,” agrees Asahi, fingers digging into his palms. “No one who loved Yuu could keep him away from volleyball.”

“Or you,” says Hinata. 

Asahi smiles at him, soft and pained. Hinata stares at him, eyes huge and searching, then drops his gaze to his lap. “I’m sorry, Asahi-san. If Kageyama were missing… I’d go crazy. We’ll do anything we can to help.”

Kageyama reaches out and puts his hand over Hinata’s. “It’ll be okay. Daichi-san’s out looking for him now. And Hinata’s right,” he adds, looking over at Asahi. “Anything you need. Anything we can do.”

Hinata nods fervently. And then, eyebrows knitted together, he raises his head. “You know,” he says. “I bet Kenma could help.”

“How?” asks Kageyama bluntly. “Isn’t he going into digital media? Doesn’t seem very helpful to a criminal investigation.”

“Well you know last year when my bike was stolen, he offered to get me the CCTV footage from the area – he’s got lots of connections and I think he could probably find out a lot easily. Like tracking phone calls or pulling camera footage. He’s real good with computer stuff,” says Hinata blithely, whose phone password is 1234. 

“Kuroo mentioned that too,” admits Asahi. “But I’m sure the police have it in hand…”

“Why not give them a leg up?” Hinata blinks up at him innocently. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Asahi stares back, considering. “I guess,” he says slowly.

  
***

Hinata and Kageyama leave after being tasked by Suga with contacting the rest of the Karasuno team; now that the news is out everyone – but particularly Tanaka – will be panicking. They need a communication chain to keep Asahi from being flooded with requests for updates. It’s a simple task, and hopefully one that will keep the two kouhai busy.

Asahi toys around with his phone for a while, scanning news and sports pages he doesn’t remember the contents of moments later. But eventually he opens a text conversation with Kozume. 

_Kozume-kun?_

The reply comes quickly. _Azumane-san. Any news?_

_Nothing yet. I was wondering… Kuroo suggested you might have access to some information…_

_I think_ , replies Kozume, _it would be better for us to talk in person. Can we meet somewhere?_

Asahi suggests a small coffee shop near his work; it’s about halfway between their apartment and Kozume’s and has a second storey seating area that’s usually quite empty. 

Asahi arrives first and buys a coffee, as though he needed more caffeine. He heads upstairs and selects a small huddle of chairs in the corner as far from the stairs and bathroom entrance as possible. He doesn’t have long to wait before Kozume shows up, Kuroo following like his shadow. The two former Nekoma players take a seat. 

“Thanks for coming,” says Asahi. In the four years Yuu has been at Chuo with Kozume they’ve become friends, and Asahi for all his shyness has been brought into the fold of their friendship. Despite his anxiousness and uncertainty, he feels comfortable talking to the setter. 

“Of course.” Kozume’s looking at the top of his drink, thumb playing with the rim like he might with a joystick. Kuroo, far less reticent, gives him a searching look.

“They really don’t know anything yet?” he leans back in his chair, long legs crossed in front of him, slanted eyes watchful. 

“Not yet.”

“Shit.” 

“That’s why I thought… I thought maybe you might be able to find something out, Kozume-kun. Yuu’s been getting prank calls, and the police haven’t been able to trace them. If we could, maybe they would lead somewhere.”

Kozume looks up through the curtain of his hair, golden eyes bright. “I can see. I might be able to find something. But tracing calls can be slow, if the software used was good enough. I don’t know when I’ll have anything.”

“Do your best. Please.”

The setter nods hesitantly. “I will.”

“And I’ll help,” declares Kuroo magnanimously, leaning forward to smack Kozume’s back encouragingly. The setter glances at him dryly.

“How?”

“I’ll make you my famous apple pie!”

Kozume looks back at his drink. “No thanks,” he says flatly.

“If I promise to remember to use sugar instead of baking powder this time?”

“If you buy it from Patisserie Sophie and pretend you baked it,” replies Kozume. He sighs and gets up. “I’ll get started on this right away, Azumane-san. Let me know if there’s anything else you think of.”

“Thanks,” says Asahi, watching them leave. 

When they’re gone he sits back, alone in the corner, and slowly sips at his coffee. He appreciates having such good friends as Hinata and Kageyama, as Kozume and Kuroo. But right now he can’t help but notice how caught up they are in each other, how close they are. 

And how alone he is.

  
***

Time trickles by slowly, agonizingly. Asahi goes for a walk, looks at some shops, comes home and talks to Suga. The former setter is cooking for him, batches of meals that can be refrigerated or frozen.

“You might not want to cook,” he says, when Asahi asks him about it. “And I have work this week. Although if you need me I can call in sick…” he looks over, expression thoughtful. 

Asahi shakes his head. “No. You should go to work. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll text you between classes. And I’ll make sure Daichi checks in too.”

“You should go home soon,” replies Asahi. “You look tired.”

“ _You_ look tired,” replies the former setter with a soft smile. “You should try to rest more. Get more exercise – that will tire you out. And it might stop you thinking so much,” he adds. 

“Sounds impossible. But… I’ll think about it.” He glances at the clock. It’s almost seven. “Forty-eight hours,” he says quietly. The fear curdles in his stomach, becoming heavy, hard. It’s a weight that drags him down from the inside. “Yuu…”

His descent into despair is abruptly interrupted by the phone ringing. Asahi digs it out of his pocket – it’s Daichi. “Hello?”

“Asahi? Inspector Takahashi has asked for me to arrange for us to see you tomorrow morning.”

Asahi grips the phone tightly. “Why? Has something happened? Daichi, it’s been two days –”

“We know. That’s why we’re considering changing tactics. We’ll need your help.”

“I can come in now,” he says, straightening. “I can get a cab, be there in thirty minutes.”

“It’s too late tonight, Asahi. Come in tomorrow. Eight am. Okay?”

He’s holding the phone so tight he thinks he might break it, his hand shaking. His stomach is churning, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. “Daichi…”

“I know it’s hard. But we have to believe whoever’s taken Nishinoya doesn’t want him harmed.”

“They want _him_ , Daichi – all of him. If they force him – if they touch him…” His knees give out from under him suddenly, joints just failing, and he falls to his knees with a groan. “It’s been so long,” he whispers, thinking of his empty bed, of Yuu’s empty chair, of the silence of his apartment. 

Of Yuu’s smile. 

Suga comes up behind him and rests a hand on his back between his shoulder blades, his touch warm, comforting. Asahi takes a breath. 

“We know that, Asahi,” says Daichi quietly. “And we know how helpless you feel. That’s why tomorrow we want to ask for your help.”

Asahi closes his eyes. “Okay,” he grits out, just the one word feeling like it’s torn from his throat. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Asahi.” The phone call ends, leaving just dead air. 

“Asahi?” asks Suga. 

He looks up. “I think,” he says slowly, bitterly, “I’ll go for a run.”

  
***

Yuu wakes alone. Sunlight is filtering in through the wax-papered windows; the room is utterly silent.

He sits up taking stock of himself. He’s wearing just his practice t-shirt and track pants; no socks or shoes. He feels slightly muzzy, but much clearer than for the past length of time. When he tries to think back on what’s happened all he can bring to mind is a thick mist with a few shreds of memory hidden in the fog. He remembers… fear, a needle, the wet touch of a tongue. 

Really awake and thoroughly afraid now, Yuu squirms upwards. He’s lying on a mattress placed on the floor of a small room. There are two doors, one open and one closed. A bank of windows covered with chicken wire. The floor is concrete, the walls plain, industrial. And, on the floor beside the mattress, a plastic cup of water with a straw.

The straw, he realises, is for him. Because his hands are trapped behind his back. He pulls and twists and feels cold hard metal against his wrists – handcuffs. Well, that’s not the end of the world. He’s spent the past decade exploiting and maintaining his flexibility. He flips onto his side and, wriggling, manages to get the handcuffs under his ass and then pull his legs through the loop of his arms, until his hands are in front of him. 

He smiles, looking down at them. The skin of his wrists is bruised and reddened, but the pain is soft and dull. As he looks down at his forearms he sees tiny red pin-pricks, and remembers the needle. 

Drugs. Someone’s been drugging him. 

Yuu swallows, fear and dread washing through him. Ignoring the water on the ground he stands, faltering slightly, and runs over to the windows. The chicken wire is stiff and strong, the edges nailed to the wall by u-shaped nails. He tries to dig his fingertips in under the wire but it’s flush to the wall and the edges are sharp, cutting into the skin of his fingertips. Growling he grabs the wire a few centimeters from the edge and pulls, twists, throws his weight against it. He keeps at it until his fingers are bloody messes, torn and pulpy. But there are too many nails in it; it’s too firmly affixed to the wall. Even with his weight hanging from it, it doesn’t budge. He tries to jam his fingers in under the nails, but they’re hammered in all the way, no room for leverage. All he achieves is bloody smears on the dingy wall. 

Leaving the window for a moment he runs over to the open door. It leads to a small, dirty bathroom. The floor tile is stained, the walls cracked. The toilet is disgusting. There’s a vent in the ceiling, but it’s too small for him to fit through. He leaves the bathroom and crosses to the other door, laying his hand on the knob. 

It’s locked. He rattles the knob, then throws his shoulder against it. It doesn’t budge. He tries to kick it, but without shoes he can’t get any strength in his kicks. He backs up and throws himself against it once, twice, three times, until his head is spinning and his shoulder aching. There’s no give at all, as if it’s heavily bolted from the other side. 

Trapped. He’s trapped. Locked in here by some… some maniac, who wants God knows what from him. 

_I want to love you, Yuu-kun. And I’m going to._ The words come back to him, echoing in his mind. 

Yuu breaks out in a cold sweat. He crosses back over to the window, banging on the chicken wire with his fist. “Hello? Help! _Help!_ ”

But there’s no answer from outside.


	6. Pleas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some intense shit in this chapter, including mention of rape.

Asahi’s sleep is deep but not refreshing, his body shutting down in exhaustion. When his alarm goes off the next morning at seven he feels heavy and ragged, as though he had been running a marathon in his sleep. His face when he sees himself in the mirror is drawn, his stubble heavy and unattended, his hair lank. He forces himself to take a hot shower, shaving and washing his hair, but when he gets out and wipes off the mirror although he’s sprucer his eyes have the same dead look in them. 

He turns away and goes to pull on some clothes.

Asahi takes the subway to the police station, dully aware of the vibrancy of the life all around him. Children playing on their mothers’ laps, students going to school chatting to each other or checking their phones, businessmen reading the paper. Life continues, completely uncaring that the one person he loves more than anything is missing. If Yuu never comes home, if he’s found cold and lifeless, the rest of the world will go on just the same. None of these people will notice the absence of one single man, no matter how amazing and irreplaceable. None of them but Asahi. 

It’s raining softly, just a mist, really, water beading on his skin, in his hair. By the time he arrives at the police station his heart is in his shoes, his chest leaden and his breathing harsh. He stares up at the plain grey edifice, the dark windows. It feels very unwelcoming.

“Asahi!”

Daichi is just coming out of the front doors, his uniform crisp and his short hair well controlled. He makes Asahi, who is usually a careful dresser, feel slovenly. But that doesn’t matter right now. “Hi,” he says quietly, hands in his coat pocket, head low. 

“Come in. You look cold.”

Asahi supposes he is. It doesn’t seem very important. Daichi ushers him into the front lobby, a wide area with a reception desk staffed by two young women in blue uniforms with navy caps on. Daichi leads him around past them to a back door which opens onto a second foyer, this one with an elevator bay in it. He thumbs the call button and looks over to Asahi. “How are you?”

Asahi looks back dully, and he winces. “Sorry. Dumb question.”

“I just feel empty, Daichi. Like I’ve been scooped out like a melon, like there’s nothing left but rind.”

“You can’t give up, Asahi.”

“You know I’ve never been good at positive thinking. That’s Yuu’s strength, not mine.” 

“Then channel him. Think like Nishinoya Yuu instead of Azumane Asahi. Reverse your roles and imagine what he’d be doing now.”

Asahi stares at Daichi, mind turning slowly. Imagines Yuu’s worry, then his fury, then his steely determination. “He wouldn’t give up,” says Asahi softly. It’s so easy to imagine, the picture so strong in his mind that it makes him feel guilty. “Sorry, Daichi,” he adds. “You’re right. It’s too early to get morbid.”

The elevator arrives and Daichi ushers him in, nodding. “Right. Just remember that.” He presses the button for floor five. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Asahi. Find that strength now.”

They reach the fifth floor and the doors open onto a wide, open space. There are desks in rows, each with a computer, phone, and chair. Some are occupied, others empty; the huge room is full of sound, of chattering and keyboard strokes and phones ringing. Daichi leads the way along the outside wall past the desks to the far end of the room where there are several small offices. Already ensconced in one are Takahashi and Kitao. There’s a small table, chairs, and a TV screen on the wall; it’s dark. 

Takahashi and Kitao rise as Asahi enters, while behind them Daichi closes the door. The room is suddenly silent, soundproof. 

“Azumane-san, thank you for coming,” says Takahashi formally.

“I’d like to help. In any way I can.”

Takahashi nods. He sits down first, the rest of them following. “As you know, Azumane-san, we have been closing off lines of inquiry. We’ve been conducting interviews and forensic examinations and security camera footage review. In short, we’ve covered a lot of ground. But we haven’t yet identified a main suspect.”

Asahi swallows, dread kneading his gut. 

On the dark wood table in front of Takahashi is a folder. He opens it now and picks up a photocopy of the last letter Yuu received. “We’ve run fingerprints on this; it only holds your prints and Nishinoya-san’s.” He places the letter flat on the table between them. It’s his imagination, surely, but Asahi can almost feel the malignance dripping from the page, the taint of the words. He nods slowly. 

“But, as you know, it’s hand written. It’s possible that someone on the volleyball club might recognize the hand writing.”

Asahi nods again.

“We questioned the team, and the regular visitors, over the weekend. No particular person was indicated by any of the interviews. However, we have been keeping quiet the full extent of our knowledge regarding Nishinoya-san’s disappearance. As far as the players know, he simply failed to return home. I want to change that dynamic. I want to inform them that he’s been taken by someone who wants _him_ , not money, not fame. By someone who intends to force him to do terrible, demeaning things to him, by someone who wants to control him, to _possess_ him. I want them to understand, Azumane-san, that by holding silence they are condemning Nishinoya-san to this. And I want you to tell them.”

Asahi, who has been stiffening as the inspector speaks, looks up now. “Me?”

“This is an emotional appeal, not a logical one. And you’re in the best position to make that. It will be hard on you; it will require you to admit all the possibilities you’ve probably been trying not to think about. But if someone is hiding something or sheltering the kidnapper, or perhaps hasn’t realised that their friend is responsible, well, we need to break them.”

Asahi stares at the inspector. At his sharp, dark eyes and strong mouth. He radiates strength, conviction. For all that he’s nothing like Yuu, he has Yuu’s quality of charisma. “Can you do that, Azumane-san?” asks Takahashi.

Asahi nods. “For Yuu, I’d do anything.”

  
***

Takahashi gets the team assembled again on campus, many of them cutting classes to attend. Asahi is driven there in the inspector’s unmarked car, Kitao and Daichi in the squad car behind. Takahashi coaches him as they go, although Asahi already thinks he has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing.

He’s begging for Yuu’s life.

“Remember, keep eye contact. Look at each and every one of them. Make them feel your pain. They have to understand how atrocious this is.”

Asahi nods. 

“If you start to break down, use it. Don’t pull back, don’t withdraw. It will make your words more powerful.”

Asahi nods again. As they pull into the campus’ entrance, Takahashi reaches out and grips his shoulder. “You can do this, Azumane-san.”

“Right,” he whispers. 

They park and make their way through the rain; it’s grown heavier, and Takahashi has provided him with an umbrella. When they arrive at the volleyball team’s meeting room there’s a low murmur, the players uneasy, nervous. Asahi enters behind Takahashi and waits in the corner as he was told to while the inspector heads to the front of the room. Kozume gives him a nod of his head, as do a few of Yuu’s closer friends. He stares back, too nervous to acknowledge them. The room is full, not just with players, but also with the coaches, managers and health staff that support the volleyball team. 

When Asahi saw them on Saturday, Yuu’s teammates had been worried but not overwhelmed, had still been lively and chatty. Now there’s a hesitancy in the room, a taste of fear. 

Takahashi begins. “I’m here to tell you that we are still investigating Nishinoya Yuu’s disappearance. I thank everyone for their cooperation, but we need more. I want to share further information with you: Nishinoya Yuu didn’t disappear, he was kidnapped. And we strongly suspect someone associated with this club of being the culprit.” A murmur goes around the room. Takahashi pulls out a copy of the note from his folder. “This letter was one of several received by Nishinoya-san prior to his disappearance. In a moment, I would like to ask each of you to take a careful look to see if you recognize the writing. But first, I would like to ask Azumane-san you speak to you.”

He steps back and glances at Asahi. Asahi takes a deep breath, lets it out, and walks to the front of the room. He looks around slowly at the thirty men and women gathered together, lets his gaze rake across them. _Don’t see people_ , Takahashi had said. _See the person who took Nishinoya._

“My name is Azumane Asahi. I’ve been in love with Yuu since I was 17. He is everything to me – and I know he’s special to you, too. I know you know how much he loves volleyball, how he’d do anything to play. You’ve seen him try to play when he’s sick, you’ve seen him try to crawl onto the court when he’s injured. You know how special he is.”

He keeps looking around, hands fisted by his sides, back so stiff he can hardly feel his spine. “Someone here knows the person who took him. I’m not angry. I’m scared. I’m terrified, because this person wants Yuu. They don’t want money, they don’t want attention. They want Yuu, want every part of him, want him so badly that they planned and plotted and finally _took_ him, like a _thing_. You know Yuu is strong; well this person is probably hurting him to make him do what they want. They’re probably beating him, starving him, maybe even drugging him. And that’s not all. They don’t care about what Yuu wants, they don’t even know what he wants. Which means they’ll take whatever _they_ want, without thinking twice. They’ll hurt him and they’ll rape him and eventually they’ll kill him. He’ll be terrified and alone and –” Asahi chokes, tears in his throat, burning in his eyes. He tries to keep looking at the men; some of them are staring, shocked, others won’t meet his eyes. “– and they’ll kill him.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Please. Someone knows something. Someone has to know something. Whoever took Yuu comes to your games, comes to your practices. They’re obsessed with Yuu. They may seem perfectly normal. But they’ve probably talked about him. Maybe not recently, maybe a while ago. Please, if there’s _anyone_ you doubt, even a little, tell the police. Look at the note; you may know the writing.” He swallows roughly. “Thank you.”

Asahi steps back, trying to fade into the background, and is relieved when Takahashi moves forward to hand copies of the note around to the players and staff. They take them in silence, each looking down fiercely at the pristine paper. Asahi watches them, tries to see who looks suspicious, who looks nervous. But many of them do, their eyes wide and their mouths screwed tightly shut. 

And then slowly, one by one, they file out. No one comes forward. Not a single one. Most of them don’t meet his eye as they leave. As each one walks by Asahi feels his heart sink lower, until the room’s empty except for the police and the head coach. 

“No one would speak in front of their teammates,” says Takahashi. “Probably some of them will still come forward with suspicions. You did a great job, Azumane.”

“I thought… I thought I would just _know_. That I’d look at them and I’d know who took him, or who knew something. But it’s not like that, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

The coach comes over and Asahi pulls back with Daichi to let him talk to Takahashi and Kitao about odds and probabilities and all kinds of guesswork Asahi doesn’t want to hear about. 

“Let’s go outside,” suggests Daichi, looking at him, and Asahi realises he’s hot and flushed. 

Outside the air is cool and moist. They stand under the edge of the roof watching the rain fall on the naked trees and barren shrubs. There’s a rain chain hanging from the corner of the building, water trickling down the metal links. Each one like the member of a team, connected, unified. Unbreakable.

Asahi thinks of Karasuno’s team, and of Chuo’s. Both are cracked without Yuu, are split up the centre.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Asahi pulls it out and glances at the screen. Text from Kozume. _Can we talk? Locker room 2 mins_.

He puts his phone away, waits a minute. Then: “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” he tells Daichi. “I’ll meet you back here.”

He steps out into the rain and hurries across to the gym, where there’s both bathrooms and the team locker rooms. He can hear shoes squeaking on the court when he steps into the building, but he heads down the hall to the locker room instead.

Kozume is sitting on an empty bench in the locker room on his phone when Asahi arrives. He looks up through the curtain of his hair. 

“Where’s Kuroo?” asks Asahi.

“In the cafeteria. He’s coming back soon,” replies Kozume quietly. “It’s about your speech.”

Asahi blinks, surprised. “Yes?”

“Afterwards, I went to the bathroom. Kuroo made me promise to stay inconspicuous, so I thought I could wait there and play games until he finished his breakfast. While I was in the stall, I heard someone come in and turn on the sink. They were crying.”

Asahi’s heart tightens. “Who?”

“Second year middle blocker Suoh Nozomi.”

Asahi can’t even picture him. He hardly knows the first and second years; there’s only one spiker from the second year who’s on the first string. The rest are second or third string, and out of sight most of the time. “We need to tell Daichi,” he says.

Kozume nods. “But there’s something else. I’m working on tracing those phone numbers. Most of them have been bounced through several international satellites. But the first of the prank calls was from a local number. It’s a burner phone. If the police can track it…”

Asahi grabs him by the elbow. “Come on. We need to see Daichi.”

  
***

Yuu bangs at the wire and shouts until his voice is hoarse, until his throat is sore and ragged and his legs give out under him. He feels wobbly and weak, his stomach twisted and empty. He can’t remember when the last time he ate was.

He’s too afraid to drink from the glass of water left for him – fearful of more drugs – and instead he turns on the tap in the squalid bathroom and drinks from his hands. The water tastes of metal, a sharp, bloody taste. It sits uneasily in his empty stomach, his gut ballooning as he tries to fill the space with water until he feels shaky and sick. 

As the hours pass by, the light outside becoming weaker, the pain in his wrists and fingertips grows. The last of the drugs are wearing off, and he’s horribly clear-headed now. Knows without a doubt that someone has put him here, someone deranged, someone dangerous. He searches every inch of the room for a weapon but finds nothing. He tries to undo the sink piping but his hands are far too weak to unscrew it, blood from his fingers smearing across the rusted metal. 

There’s a single light in the ceiling, the bulb illuminating the room as darkness falls outside. Voiceless, weaponless and weak, Yuu sits by the door waiting for his captor to come back.

  
***

He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting for, but it feels like hours when he finally hears the step outside. He stands quietly and switches off the light. The room goes dark.

The bolt in the door turns, and Yuu steps back and raises his hands, fingers woven together to make a club. He waits, legs trembling, eyes hard, for the door to open.

Slowly, it creaks forward. “Yuu-kun,” calls a soft, playful voice. A man steps in, his hand still on the doorknob.

“ _Right here you bastard_ ,” snarls Yuu, bringing his hands down together with all the force he can muster on the man’s head. He cries out, falling to the side, and Yuu makes a run for it. Breaks out from inside the tiny room and sprints barefooted through an empty factory floor. But there are no lights, no windows, and Yuu can’t see where he’s going. He runs full-tilt into something as high as his knees and tumbles right over it. His libero instincts kick in full force and he catches himself as he rolls, is up again in a moment, shins torn and aching. 

There’s a light on him. A flashlight’s beam. Someone’s chasing him, footsteps pounding after him. He runs between rusty conveyor belts, just long dark shadows in a room full of shadows and reaches the far wall. 

He’s exhausted. His head is spinning, his legs shaking violently. It’s pathetic, he can play volleyball for hours, can run for kilometers without tiring. But he’s sick with hunger, with days of starvation, no longer a top athlete but simply a desperate one. 

“Please don’t run from me, Yuu-kun,” begs the faceless man behind the flashlight’s blinding beam. “All I want is to take care of you.”

“By locking me up and drugging me? Fuck that! And fuck you, you cruel, heartless, sick son of a bitch!” His words are barely audible even to him, his voice ruined.

He needs to run. Needs to find a door and get out. But all he can see is the light coming closer and closer, the tapping of footsteps on cement hypnotising.

Finally he breaks away and runs, but his muscles are tired now, his body exhausted. He careens into a pile of cardboard boxes and tumbles through them, hitting the ground in a heap. A high, keening moan escapes his throat, the sound of a wounded animal, as he tries to scramble to his feet.

A hand grabs his elbow and he flails, kicking out, twisting away, his scream soundless from his bloody throat. A palm slaps the side of his face so hard he sees stars and drops, heavy, to the ground. The flashlight is put down, then a small white kit is opened, a syringe glinting inside. 

“No! No! Nonono,” begs Yuu, kicking weakly now, a strong hand digging into his upper arm with an unforgiving grip. The needle comes out, draws liquid out of a small vial, and moves inexorably towards his trapped arm. Yuu squirms, batting out with his naked feet and trying to punch with his free arm, but his assault is too weak to make a difference.

In the flashlight’s glare, he finally sees his attacker for the first time. 

As the syringe slips beneath his skin, Yuu thinks it’s insane that he doesn’t even know who this bastard is.


	7. Reunions

Up until now, Daichi has been watching the investigation slowly stalling out. Watching the interviews fizzle, the forensic and technological evidence turn up no clues. Every lead they follow has turned to dust, has been useless, worthless. It’s felt like being trapped in a funhouse, all mirrors and doors and no matter how many mirrors they break or doors they open, they haven’t been able to get out. 

But things feel different now. Now, they’re no longer starting from square one. With two new lines of inquiry suddenly surfacing, they launch full force into running them down. 

Daichi drives Suoh Nozomi to headquarters for questioning, Kitao riding shotgun to keep an eye on their most promising lead. The middle blocker is cowed and silent for the entire ride, hands fisted in his lap, his wide, reddened eyes staring out the windows. Daichi takes the long way back to the station, partially to let Suoh sweat and partially to give Takahashi time to get back first. 

As he’s not currently charge with anything – not yet, thinks Daichi darkly – at the station he’s simply signed in as a visitor and escorted up to the fifth floor where Daichi leads him to an interrogation room. Kitao dismisses him and he slips out, passing Takahashi on the way. Instead of returning to his desk, though, he crosses to the observation room and passes in silently, taking a seat while on the other side of the one-way mirror Takahashi and Kitao do the same. He’s never done this before, never covertly sat in on an interview. He has a guilty, itchy feeling in his palms, but he needs to know what’s happening. 

“Suoh Nozomi,” says Kitao. He’s sitting in one of the two molded plastic chairs facing the mirror, his hands on the table. Usually the interviewee would sit facing the mirror, but right now no one’s supposed to be watching. The table is heavy and bolted onto the floor; it doesn’t budge when Kitao shifts his considerable weight. “Second year Chemistry student; volleyball team second string. Is that right?” His tone is straightforward, flat. Suoh nods stiffly.

“You know why you’re here?”

“N-not really,” stammers the middle blocker, shoulders high and tense. His haircut is uneven at the back of his neck, probably just a roommate job or a cheap barber. There’s nothing sophisticated about this kid. If Daichi can see it, he’s sure the inspector and the sergeant can too; Suoh will be easy to break. “I didn’t touch Nishinoya-senpai.”

“No; you have an alibi for the time of his disappearance. Study group, right?” Kitao leans forward. “We don’t think you took him, Suoh. We think you know who did.”

Takahashi opens his folder and pulls out the letter. This one isn’t a copy, it’s the original, sealed away in a plastic bag. He pushes it forward, plastic whispering against the tabletop. “You recognized the writing. You realized who it is. You were so scared, and so horrified, that you didn’t know what to do.”

“I – I –”

“You understand, don’t you, that this person could be doing anything to Nishinoya-san right now? That they’re probably hurting him, forcing him. And that when they realize Nishinoya-san won’t ever really be theirs, they’ll have no choice other than to kill him.”

“No…”

“There’s a lot of knife crime around these days,” breaks in Old Faithful speculatively. “Maybe they’ll slit his throat. Or strangle him; plenty of rope for sale. Or maybe they’ll just use their hands – he’s small, isn’t he, Nishinoya? Easy to wring the life out of him.”

Suoh buries his hands in his hair, head low. “No,” he moans, softly. 

Takahashi stares at him sternly, voice hard. “We’ll find him, Suoh. Even if it’s just his body. And then it will be murder, and you will be responsible – morally and _criminally_ responsible, for not telling us who took him.” 

“I – I don’t _know_.”

“But you suspect. Tell us who. If you’re wrong, no harm no foul. If you’re right, maybe you’ll have saved Nishinoya-san’s life.”

“I – it’s … look, I don’t have any proof,” he says, wretchedly. 

Takahashi stares down at him, eyes narrow. “Proof is our job, you leave that to us.”

Suoh takes a deep, shuddering breath. “My older brother always wanted to play volleyball. He wasn’t bad, he’s just not athletic; he has no natural instincts. He was back benched every game in high school, and didn’t make it to university. He’s always been proud of me, coming to watch my team’s games. At least, I thought it was me he was proud of. But a few months ago he started talking about Nishinoya-senpai. About how great a libero he was. It went on for a while, and then it just stopped. But then he started coming to practice. He always stayed at the back behind the coaches and the other visitors… he’s always been shy. He never asked me to introduce him to anyone, and I didn’t because it was kind of embarrassing – you know I’m only on the second string, it felt, well, presumptuous to have someone coming to cheer me on. I never told him that, but I never encouraged him to come, either.”

“Did he have a camera?” asks Kitao carefully.

Suoh nods. “Yeah, and I did wonder what he wanted to take pictures of in practice. They weren’t of me; he’d be taking them when I was on break or on the other side of the court. I guess… they could have been of Nishinoya-senpai.”

“Your brother’s name?”

“Suoh Kaoru. You interviewed him on Sunday.”

Kitao nods. “Did you see him at the practice on Friday night?”

“No. He wasn’t there.”

“Does he live with you?”

“No, he has a small apartment. He’s a paramedic; he moved out of our parents’ house as soon as he had enough saved.”

Takahashi leans forward, tapping the plastic-sealed letter. “Suoh, is this his writing?”

Suoh swallows. His voice, when he speaks, is just a whisper. “I think… it could be.” He looks up. “But he wouldn’t hurt anyone! He wouldn’t hurt Nishinoya-senpai. He’s awkward but he’s no kidnapper. Please, believe me!”

Daichi slips out of the observation room while the interview winds down.

He has to find Suoh Kaoru.

  
***

It doesn’t take long to dig up such information as they have on Suoh Kaoru. 28, full-time paramedic, living in an apartment building near his ambulance station. One prior caution for a fight last year outside an acquaintance’s apartment; the file is very thin, just bare facts – time, place, participants. No reason given. Daichi also pulls the record of the interview from Sunday; no alibi.

Daichi has the file ready for Takahashi when the inspector emerges; he looks hard at Daichi but doesn’t comment, taking the file instead. “Sergeant Kitao will call him and arrange for him to come in for a second interview. We’ll keep the brother around in case we need leverage.”

“If he comes in,” replies Kitao. 

“He agreed to the first interview,” says Daichi.

“Which was a good move. But he might be getting nervy now. Especially if he hears we pulled his brother in.”

“Call him now, before the news gets out,” orders Takahashi, and Kitao hurries to his desk to do so. He hands the file to Daichi and checks his watch. “Sawamura, you come with me.”

Daichi follows Takahashi to his office, where the inspector starts arranging for a police raid of Suoh Kaoru’s apartment with Daichi taking notes. 

“If it’s him, would he keep Nishinoya at his apartment?” asks Daichi.

“Unlikely. But we might find more evidence. And we might just get lucky. We’ll conduct the raid while Suoh comes into the station. Give me that file again.”

  
***

As it turns out, though, Suoh Kaoru doesn’t answer his phone. Kitao checks with the ambulance service and finds that Suoh isn’t on shift today.

“We’ll go ahead with the raid,” decides Takahashi. “Sergeant Kitao will stay behind and continue to try to contact Suoh.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we’ll assemble downstairs in five. Sawamura, pull together the rest of the team.”

“Yes, sir.”

  
***

Suoh’s apartment building is one of several identical buildings in a complex, each ten-storey grey panelled with exterior staircases and elevators. The police team is four men plus Takahashi, all more seasoned officers and all equipped with police revolvers. Daichi has never used his gun, never even taken it out of the holster except to clean it and at the shooting range. He runs his thumb over the stiff leather holster now, his heart beating faster.

They climb to the fourth floor and surround the door, boots crunching on the outer accessway, muscles tense. Takahashi looks to them and receives nods, then turns to the door. Raising his hand, he knocks sharply. 

The seconds tick by, sweat running down the back of Daichi’s neck despite the cold air. Someone shifts, boots scraping on the floor. Daichi wonders how Takahashi can stand it, can stand waiting perfectly still for the doo to be answered by a kidnapper.

But no one comes. After a minute Takahashi uses the key he got from the building manager; it clicks in the lock and he pushes the door open. “Suoh-san?” he calls, stepping in. 

There’s no answer.

They file in one after another, spreading out to quickly search the bachelor apartment. There’s a bed in the corner, a folding table, two folding chairs, and a TV on a stand. It’s a perfectly ordinary room, neither particularly clean nor particularly dirty. There are a couple of plates in the sink and a glass on the tiny kitchenette counter. There’s a poster on the wall of Chuo’s men’s volleyball team, but no other fan merchandise. 

“Sir,” calls one of the men from the bathroom. Takahashi follows him in, and then the two of them bring out a small bag, like a woman would use for cosmetics. From inside it they take out tiny vials; medical vials. There’s also a small bottle of clear liquid. 

“Morphine and carisoprodol,” reads the inspector, turning the vials in his gloved hands. “Plus chloroform.”

“Carisoprodol is a muscle relaxant,” says Daichi; Koushi had it prescribed to him briefly after an injury caused repeated cramping. 

“A perfect little pharmacy for a kidnapper.” 

“But he’s not here,” says one of the other men. Takahashi puts down the vials. 

“Search the apartment. Find anything that suggests a hide-out. He’s still in town; he showed up for the first interview. Sawamura, get onto his dispatching authority. Find out what shifts he’s worked recently. And find out if there’s any space he could use from his work.”

Daichi salutes. “Yes, sir.”

  
***

By early afternoon things are in full swing. They’ve interviewed not just Suoh’s brother but his parents, his boss, his fellow paramedics, and his neighbours. They’ve sent officers to search several ambulance stations, as well as the regular parking spots the ambulances frequent by coffee shops and eateries.

By checking with local rental agencies they determine that he rented a car on Friday afternoon and returned it Saturday morning. The odometer suggests somewhere within Tokyo; forensics is waiting for the car to be returned from its current rental to analyse it for evidence that might help narrow the search. 

But right now, they still have no idea where he might have taken Nishinoya. He doesn’t have access to any other rental property, doesn’t have an allotment or a storage space that they’ve found record of. And in any case, that would be too public. Wherever Suoh’s gone it’s somewhere private, empty. 

At this point, Daichi is confident that they’ll find him. He’s just not sure that they’ll find him in time. 

He pulls down at his phone. Asahi has been texting him regularly, asking for updates, begging for information. Daichi can easily picture him sitting alone in his apartment, phone in his hands, waiting for a text, a call. Waiting to hear that they’ve found Nishinoya.

He provides Asahi with what information he can, but he’s very aware that none of it is what the former ace wants to hear.

  
***

The breakthrough happens at 4:30, just as it’s starting to get dark outside. The phone experts down in Tech and Tracking finally manage to get a trace on the burner phone Kozume (illegally) pointed them to. It’s in an old industrial section of town near the docks, convenient for goods transport. After the economic downturn most of the work moved elsewhere, factories and warehouses shuttering. Now it’s practically a ghost town, rusty and mouldering.

The perfect place to hide.

They call in the SAT, the specialists when it comes to hostage retrieval and high-tension situations. It might be overkill, but they know now that Suoh has been planning this maybe for months, is focused, is obsessed. He won’t let Nishinoya go without a fight. 

Daichi texts Asahi as he’s leaving the office: _Closing in. May have found him._ He slips his phone in his pocket, stands, and follows the group of men out to the elevator. 

The police come in behind the SAT, five squad cars plus the unmarked car for Takahashi, holding enough men to surround a large building. The trace on the phone is accurate to the street block; not precise enough for them to have an exact sense of where Suoh is hiding. They need to be ready for anything.

  
***

The Kawasaki district waterfront is all silent, empty buildings. Nowhere are Japan’s economic struggles more evident than the silent warehouse district, the buildings locked and their windows boarded up or broken. There’s broken glass on the ground and green weeds growing up through cracks in the concrete.

The SAT men are wearing their dark uniforms, heavy gloves and helmets; they radiate competence and danger. Several have rifles, are fanning out between the buildings in pairs to scope out the area. 

Daichi and his partner Kusanoto are sent to the far end of the block to form a perimeter to keep the area clear of any pedestrians or drivers who might try to come through, their car parked across the street as an added barrier. He’s looking around, trying to guess where Suoh might be hiding, what building he would use, when he hears it. A quiet, metallic noise, like an animal testing the strength of a cage. It echoes once, stops, then echoes again. He presses the button on his vest radio. “Sawamura, station B2. I hear motion inside the building on the northern perimeter.”

He watches as men come jogging down both intersecting roads, rifles in hand, and points to the building. It has intact windows that are blocked up on the inside with some kind of opaque material. One of the SAT men has a set of infrared goggles on. He stands beside Daichi behind the police car, surveilling the building. “Target confirmed. Two men in building B2-2.”

Slowly, like a net being drawn, the SAT men and officers surround the building. 

Daichi doesn’t dare ask what they will do. The door to the building is set in the near wall; he watches two of the men slowly approach it. There’s an open hole where rust has eaten around the knob, and they feed a little camera on the end of a snake-like cord through it. The video feed is transmitted to a laptop in the SAT truck, Daichi knows, the team’s leader in there doubtless analysing it. 

“Code beta-zero,” says a quiet voice through the headset in the helmet of the SAT man next to him. Daichi glances at him but he doesn’t react. Beside the door one of the two men pulls a small cannister off his vest and motions at the other one to open the door. 

Smoke bomb. If they’re lucky, Suoh will think the building’s on fire and will bring Yuu out unawares. 

The door cracks open and the man rolls the cannister in. There’s no sound from inside, but slowly thick smoke begins to roll out from underneath the door. The two SAT men back away, clearing the area in front of the door until there’s a semi-circle of them, each with rifles ready. 

Time ticks by. One minute. Then two. It’s not working. Suoh knows, he heard them, he saw the squad car through the window. He’s tipped off, and he’s not coming out. They’ll have to go in after him, and he’ll have the advantage. 

But then one of the men holds up his hand in a fist. The rest straighten, waiting. And then Daichi hears it too. The slow shuffle of uncoordinated feet. Then a wheezing cough. 

The factory’s front door slides open and Suoh Kaoru stumbles out into the grey evening with Nishinoya held tightly in front of him like a shield. 

Nishinoya who’s barefoot, uncoordinated, drugged. Nishinoya whose hands are cuffed in front of him, wrists bruised, fingers bloody. Nishinoya who’s eyes stare around him uncomprehendingly at the ring of police. 

Nishinoya, who has a syringe pointed at his throat. 

Daichi’s heart twists. 

“Put down the needle,” says one of the officers, voice calm, anonymous. “Put down the needle and let Nishinoya go.”

Suoh Kaoru is dishevelled, his clothes rumpled, his hair greasy and mussed. He’s tall and pale and pinch-faced, his eyes alone bright. “He’s mine. He’s mine, and you can’t have him.”

“Put down the needle and we can talk about it, Suoh-san.”

“You’ll take him away. I know you will. You don’t think I deserve him. But you’re wrong. I won – I found him and I took him and he’s _mine_.”

Daichi shivers. Nishinoya swallows, head tilted back, eyes glazed. He shuffles slightly to the side, tipping, and Suoh digs his fingers into his arm, pulling him closer. Nishinoya doesn’t look in any state to be standing; he’s panting, weight shifting back and forth, mouth hanging slightly open. He could collapse at any time. They need to end this, fast. 

“We want to understand more, Suoh-san. We want to talk about it. If you put the needle down we can bring you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can tell us all about it.”

Suoh’s upper lip curls showing dirty teeth. “No. _No_. You can’t have him. He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s _mine_ ,” Suoh’s shouting, his face red, his hands shaking. The needle is moving unsteadily beside Nishinoya’s throat. The police back up, gravel crunching under boots. 

“Okay,” says the negotiator, soothingly. “Why don’t you tell us what that means? Why did you choose him?”

Suoh’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know?”

“No; please tell me.”

“Then you’ve never seen him play. He’s amazing – fantastic. Everyone thinks volleyball is about ruling the sky. They’re wrong. It’s about conquering the ground. Yuu-kun is the only one who can keep the ball from falling; he’s the only one who keeps the game alive when everyone else around him screws up.”

“So you wanted him to be yours.”

“It was only right. I was meant to love him. I knew it the minute I saw him – he was the one for me. He was always meant to be mine. Mine…” Suoh’s head lowers, his mouth pressing against Nishinoya’s ear. Nishinoya jerks away, eyes suddenly startled, shocked – and for a moment, the needle is no longer beside his throat.

“Nishinoya!” shouts Daichi, so loudly his words echo back at him from all sides, shocking even himself. “ _Chance ball!_ ”

Nishinoya’s been a libero for more than ten years, has been training continuously since elementary school. Drugged, suggestible, he reacts instinctively now, squatting down and leaning forward to extend his arms in front of him, slipping out of Suoh’s grip.

A moment later the nearest SAT team member has grabbed Suoh’s arm and is wrestling him to the floor, others piling on. 

Daichi presses forward and from the sudden scene of chaos, of men fighting with Suoh and others coming in to help and shouts and orders and radios barking, Daichi grabs Nishinoya and bodily lifts him, carrying him away from his captor. He runs, heart racing, until he’s safe behind the squad car with Nishinoya in his arms, the libero shaking from the cold. He drops onto the ground, Nishinoya held close in his lap, his head against Daichi’s shoulder.

“Nishinoya? Nishinoya it’s me – it’s Daichi. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Nishinoya’s cuff-linked hands twitch, rising slowly, his bloody fingers twisting in the material of Daichi’s uniform shirt. Daichi looks up; there are men all around suddenly, staring down at him. “Call an ambulance. And find the goddamn keys for the cuffs,” he snaps. 

He’s just looking down again to find Nishinoya staring up at him, eyes wide and confused, when he hears the shouting. “Yuu! _Yuu!_ ” 

It’s not Suoh, who is lying on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind his back, sobbing. It’s coming from behind them, from behind the police line.

In Daichi’s arms, Nishinoya twists. “Asahi.” His voice is rough, ruined, just a torn croak. 

Daichi looks up, frowning. It can’t be Asahi – he doesn’t know where they are, this is a police action and Daichi didn’t give him the location.

But it is. It’s Asahi, lumbering in a heavy pea-coat looking hot-faced and frantic, arguing with two officers a few meters away. “Let him through,” shouts Daichi, then looks up at his partner. “Go tell them to let him through.”

Kusanoto escorts Asahi over, the ace pushing past him and throwing himself onto the ground beside Nishinoya. He rips his coat off and wraps it around Nishinoya, then lifts the libero from Daichi’s lap as though he were no weight at all, cradles him in his arms tightly. 

“Yuu. _Yuu_ ,” he whispers into Nishinoya’s hair. The libero tucks his head up under Asahi’s chin and leans against his chest, eyes closed. 

“Knew you’d come,” he whispers.


	8. Chance

Yuu’s warm at last.

Asahi lies next to him in the narrow hospital bed, Yuu wrapped in the thin hospital blanket and Asahi draped over him like a rug, holding him tight while he dozes. There’s a pillow from their apartment beneath him and an IV line in his arm providing him the fluids he’s missing. The nurses had looked askance at the pillow when Suga showed up with it, but Yuu’s soft drugged words upon being introduced to his white, sanitary bed had broken Asahi’s heart: _it smells like him_. Suga, showing the steel under his velvet, had insisted on the pillow from home. So now it lies under Yuu’s head, imbued with the scent of safety. The nightstand beside the bed is already under threat of being overwhelmed by flowers; so far they’ve come from Suga and Daichi, from Tanaka, and from Hinata and Kageyama, vases pressed closely together while bright hothouse blooms vie with each other for space. 

The past few hours have passed like dream time, inexplicably uneven. Hours have flown by, and seconds have stretched into infinity. Yuu’s seen doctors and nurses and police officers and photographers, has had blood tests and physical examinations and an x-ray of the ugly bruising on his right wrist. Asahi’s been there beside him the whole time, glued to his side, and when Yuu finally couldn’t take anymore it was Asahi he turned to, burying himself silently against his chest like a shy child – something Yuu has never, ever been – and Asahi flared up and shouted the remaining officers and nurses out of the room – something he’s never done before. 

It’s a day of firsts. And, hopefully, lasts. 

Asahi reaches out and tucks the white hospital blanket a little higher, but Yuu’s hands are still exposed, the IV in the back of his left hand taped securely to his pale skin. Yuu’s fingers are bandaged almost like a setter’s, but there’s nothing innocent or valiant behind the white gauze. Looking at the narrow white digits, Asahi feels his heartbeat throbbing painfully in his chest. He saw the bare fingers in the ambulance, of course, and again when they changed the bandages in the hospital to provide the police photographer an opportunity to record the evidence of Yuu’s captivity. But the bloody messes of Yuu’s fingertips had been hard even to look at – harder still when Daichi had returned, later, and told simply of the crimson-stained wire in the prison room. 

Asahi’s fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket. Yuu still hasn’t given a proper statement – impossible while under the influence of sedatives – and Asahi still doesn’t know the extent of the horror. Yuu had insisted in the physical exam that he hadn’t been assaulted, hadn’t been touched. _Just kisses_ , he said, mouth twisted in a grimace, _gross, sloppy kisses_. Asahi can easily imagine victims denying an awful truth for any number of reasons, but in Yuu’s dull eyes he reads only fact. It’s one immense, rough-edged relief. 

The door slides open and Daichi pokes his head in, nodding to Asahi. Asahi glances down at Yuu – still asleep, face drawn – and carefully slides himself out of the bed. In stocking feet he pads over to the door. Inspector Takahashi is there, as well as the doctor – a middle-aged woman named Ishikawa. 

“We’ve received the results of the blood test,” says Ishikawa quietly. “Morphine, and traces of Carisoprodol, as anticipated. By now, both will have been metabolized.”

Takahashi glances into the room at the recumbent libero. “He’ll be lucid, then, when he wakes up?”

“Lucid, yes. But likely very fragile. If he was kept mostly under morphine during his captivity, it’s possible that he may not remember much. But it’s also possible that the memories will have sunk deeper into his subconscious; that he may be afraid without knowing or understanding why. It could make it more difficult to overcome the trauma.”

“But in the short term,” presses Takahashi, while Asahi tries to digest the doctor’s words. Tries to imagine the fear that lingers not on the surface, easily confrontable, but in the dark corners of the mind. The fear that turns dreams to nightmares and shadows into monsters. Yuu is a master at direct confrontation. But he’s never dealt with sly insidiousness, especially in his own mind. 

“In the short term, you can talk to him when he wakes up. But he should have someone he trusts present.”

“I’ll be there,” says Asahi, immediately. He does not make it a question.

  
***

Yuu wakes a little over an hour later. Asahi has returned to the bed, curling protectively around him despite the twinges from his shoulder and knees at the awkward position.

He hears the changing in Yuu’s breathing first, the shift from slow and even to a slight hitch. Yuu’s hands twitch, fingers skimming over the white sheets. 

“Yuu, I’m here,” says Asahi softly. 

Yuu groans, stretching – as though this were an ordinary day and he was waking before sunrise to go to morning practice. Then he stops and stiffens, and Asahi knows the memories have come back. 

Yuu turns, eyes wide, and stares up at Asahi. “You’re here,” he breathes. His voice is hoarse, saw-blade rough. 

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuu frees his hand from the blanket, reaching out, then stops. He’s staring at his hand, at the bandages on his fingers and wrist. “This…”

“You’re alright. No lasting damage.” Asahi reaches out and softly closes his hand over Yuu’s, hiding the white gauze.

“Daichi found me,” Yuu says slowly. “Didn’t he?”

Asahi nods. “The police were able to track Suoh’s cellphone – thanks to Kozume-kun. Daichi was with them.”

“And so were you.”

Asahi smiles. “Daichi forgot to shut off Find My Friends. I was able to follow him.”

Slowly, like sun coming out from behind a cloud bank, Yuu smiles. It’s not his usual bright wickedness, nor his softer, sweeter sincerity, but it’s something. “Devious,” he says. 

“I think it got Daichi in trouble. But apparently he was the one who freed you, so I think he’s got a little latitude to play with.”

“He freed me,” says Yuu slowly, as if tasting the words. 

“You don’t remember?”

Yuu’s face scrunches up. “A bit. My memories… it’s like trying to pick out faces from a crowd. Sometimes I remember something real clear, but it’s just an image or two. Most of the time it’s just white noise. Impressions, tones. That’s it. There was one afternoon when I was pretty with-it. That’s where this came from,” he says, wriggling his fingers. “Mesh wire over the windows. I tried everything to pry it off, but…” He swallows, eyes losing some of their brightness. “Who was he? What did he _want_?” he asks Asahi, softly. 

Asahi opens his mouth to answer, and someone knocks at the door. Yuu flinches, eyes snapping wide open, fingers grasping against Asahi’s hand. “It’s okay,” says Asahi softly then, louder, “Come in.”

Takahashi steps in. He’s alone, which Asahi’s glad for; he doesn’t want more strangers here right now. “This is Inspector Takahashi,” says Asahi. Yuu’s been introduced to him already, of course, but that was earlier when he was dulled with sedatives, and Asahi doesn’t know if Yuu remembers. He sits up and Yuu rises too. He gets tangled in the blanket and fights briefly, breath speeding, his movements sharp, frantic. Asahi gets off the bed and pulls the blanket free, releasing him; he relaxes. 

“I have a few questions to ask. We can do a formal statement later, but we need some facts for now. I’ll just step out and let the nurse know you’re awake so she can bring something to eat, then we can go over the questions.” He steps out, giving Yuu a moment to catch his breath. 

Yuu looks to Asahi, and although the hospital bed isn’t that big he looks small in it, lost. “Come back?” he asks, and Asahi scrambles up onto the bed again, sitting cross-legged. Lithe as a cat, Yuu slides into his lap; Asahi wraps his arms around him, holding him safe against his chest. Yuu sighs, tucking his head up under Asahi’s chin. They’ve always been comfortable sitting like this, drawing strength and security from each other. 

Takahashi returns, and if he finds their closeness strange he says nothing. He shuts the door behind him and crosses over to the bed, seating himself in the visitor’s chair. It’s probably easier for him to take notes that way, but Asahi has the suspicion he’s sitting to keep himself at a lower eye-level to reduce the sense of threat. He appreciates the inspector’s thoughtfulness. 

Takahashi produces a notepad and pen. But Yuu speaks first, before he can ask a question.

“Who was he? Asahi called him Suoh – like Nozomi?” 

“You didn’t know him?”

Yuu shakes his head, his hair tickling Asahi’s chin. 

“Suoh Kaoru is Suoh Nozomi’s older brother. He’s been coming to your games and practices for some time, although according to his brother he kept a low profile. He never introduced himself to you?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Can you tell me about being taken?”

Yuu’s quiet for a moment. “I’ve tried to think about it. Tried to remember. I can remember Friday’s practice pretty clearly; I can even remember getting changed and talking to Kenma. After that… nothing. I can hardly remember anything from the past few days, Inspector. Just… snatches of emotion, impressions.”

“Such as?”

“Fear. Disgust. Panic. Confusion. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Even now that I know, I still don’t understand it. What did he want?”

“He’s under psychiatric evaluation now, and maybe that will answer some questions. But realistically, all you may ever know is that for whatever reason, he was obsessed with you. He wanted to possess you, perhaps romantically but perhaps just as a trophy.”

“He said he wanted to love me,” says Yuu quietly, bandaged fingers fisted. 

“Did he hurt you?”

Asahi tries not to tense, knows Yuu will notice. But his love answers straightforwardly, easily. “Apart from the drugs? He hit me a couple of times. That was it. He didn’t try – didn’t try anything sexual. Even his kisses were bad, sloppy. I don’t think he knew what he was doing. Don’t think he knew _how_ to be intimate.”

“It’s possible. He was cautioned last year after getting into a fight with an acquaintance who he followed and tried to press attention on. As far as we know that’s the extent of his romantic history.”

“He failed once, so he decided to take what he wanted,” says Asahi. There’s a moment of silence, and then he looks to the inspector. “What happens now?”

Takahashi meets his eyes. “Suoh will be assessed for capability to stand trial. I have to tell you, it’s very possible he’ll be deemed incapable and sent to a forensic mental facility. He broke down upon arrest and has been inconsolable since.”

Asahi looks down at Yuu; with the blankets concealing his legs and his head tucked in under Asahi’s chin, all Asahi can see of his love is his arms: the IV needle, the bandaged wrists, the white gauzed fingers. _Good_ , he thinks of Suoh, and wonders at his cruelty. He leans down and presses his nose to Yuu’s hair. They washed it when they admitted him; it smells of soft lavender shampoo now – a foreign scent, but better than grease. Yuu’s warmth, his weight in Asahi’s lap, even the clean smell of him wash away Asahi’s doubt. He regrets nothing – for once, he refuses to extend his kindness to another. He would rather Suoh be locked away forever than risk Yuu ever having to see him again, ever have to even _fear_ seeing him again. 

“When can I go home?” asks Yuu. 

“That’s for the doctors to decide.” There’s a knock on the door and they all look over, Asahi anticipating a nurse with food. Instead Suga comes in with the brown tray in his hands, grinning. 

“Suga-san!” Yuu sounds genuinely thrilled. Takahashi stands.

“Thanks for your time, Nishinoya-san. We can arrange a more formal time to take your statement, but it will be at your convenience and here or at home. You won’t have to come into the station.”

“Thanks,” says Yuu. Takahashi passes Suga on his way out. Daichi’s lingering at the door; Takahashi says something to him, and then their former captain comes in too. “Daichi-san!”

“Hey.” Daichi’s smiling gently, comes over to sit on the end of the bed while Suga puts the tray down on Yuu’s lap and then takes a seat in the chair. There’s soup, apple sauce, juice, and pudding. Soft, easy-to-eat foods. The exam had shown swelling and rawness in Yuu’s throat. He’s been quieter since he woke up, and Asahi’s not sure if it’s his throat or something more psychological. “How’re you feeling?”

Yuu tilts his head to the side. “’S nice to be me again,” he says. “Hands and wrists are sore; throat too. But I can deal. Never gonna take painkillers again.” He takes up the bowl of miso and sips at it. “You saved me,” he says, more quietly, looking at Daichi.

“Your training saved you. You were the one who broke free, Noya. Don’t forget that. You didn’t give up, not once.”

“I almost got away,” says Yuu. “The one time he let me wake up. I got out, got past him. But he caught me again, and took out the needle, and…” his fingers are shaking and hot soup slops over the edge. Suga snaps forward, catching his hands carefully and steadying them. With the setter’s strong fingers bolstering his, Yuu sets the miso down on the tray. 

Asahi’s heart is pounding in his ears, his body hot with a sick feeling, and with rage. “I don’t understand,” Yuu is saying, looking from Daichi to Suga and then up at Asahi. His eyes are wide, wet. “Not at all. _Why?_ Why not just _talk_ to me? He never once wanted to just _talk_ to me.”

“He wasn’t in love with you, Noya,” answers Daichi. “It was just the idea of you. He couldn’t care less what you as a person thought, felt. If he had, he would never have taken you.”

Yuu doesn’t answer, staring down at his lap; unable to see his face, Asahi has no idea what he’s thinking. “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” says Asahi. “Not now. Yuu, you need to eat. Concentrate on that. Please.”

Yuu swallows audibly. “Okay.” He peels the plastic lid off the apple sauce and picks up a spoon clumsily, starts scooping up dollops of sauce up. 

Asahi turns to Suga, catches his eye. “What happened at school today?”

The teacher smiles. “End of the year celebration. My kids are graduating.”

“Does it count as graduating if it’s second grade?” asks Asahi. 

“Of course! You have no sense of occasion, Asahi.”

“Suga, they’re seven. Neither do they.”

They continue chatting lightly, Daichi occasionally chipping in. In his lap, Yuu eats everything on his tray, then asks for seconds.

  
***

Asahi stays with Yuu overnight, sleeping in the chair when the nurses turn him out of the bed. Mostly though he stays awake leaning on the bed, watching Yuu sleep. He wants to be there to wake him if he has nightmares, wants to be there if he wakes.

He falls asleep sometime before dawn, head pillowed on his arms on the side of the bed. When he wakes, Yuu is lying on his side, watching him silently. 

Asahi blinks and sits up sharply, combing his hair back with his fingers; it’s slipping out of its bun. “Yuu?”

Yuu smiles softly. “Forgot how cute you are asleep,” he says. 

“You can see it as often as you want,” replies Asahi. He leans in carefully for a kiss; Yuu shifts back and he freezes. Then Yuu’s face twists, anger sharpening his features. 

“I’m sorry –”

“Don’t be. Love, don’t be. We’ll take it as slow as you need.”

“I don’t _want_ slow. I don’t want different. I just want _you_.” He pushes himself forward and kisses Asahi forcefully, Asahi lowering his head to try to make it comfortable. But this kiss isn’t about love, it’s about hate, about denial, about refusal to submit. After an awkward minute Yuu breaks away, eyes still angry. “I don’t want this to change anything.”

But it will, Asahi knows. For a while, at least.

  
***

Yuu’s discharged from the hospital in the afternoon; they go home in a taxi, the two of them and armfuls of flowers. They carry them up the stairs together, taking the steps slow in case of dizziness. Yuu’s been eating every few hours to try to recover from three days without food, but he’s still shaky. When they finally enter the apartment he tosses the flowers down on the table and throws himself into Asahi’s arms smelling of daylilies and roses – rich, lush scents. He reaches up and tugs Asahi’s face down for a kiss, this time softer but still with a stiffness to it.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Yuu,” Asahi whispers when he pulls back. “I already know you’re the strongest person I could ever meet.”

Yuu stares back at him, hands caught in Asahi’s shirt, his chest pressed close to Asahi’s. His eyes are bright, searching. Asahi’s not sure what he’s looking for but after a few seconds he pulls back, the tense line of his shoulders softening. 

“I guess we’d better put those flowers in water,” he says, and turns away. 

Asahi’s never known him not to accept a compliment with a breezy smile and a comeback line. He stares after Yuu now as he toes off his shoes and steps over to the table, gathering up bunches of flowers from where they’ve fallen. He doesn’t care about the flowers, Asahi is certain, would in normal circumstances have left them to wilt and then blamed his bad memory later if challenged. But now they’re a distraction, an out. An alternative to talking about whatever it is he’s thinking and feeling.

Asahi sighs and goes into the kitchen to find some vases.

  
***

Yuu’s phone and wallet are still missing, but with his fingers in the state they are Yuu can’t use a phone right now anyway. Asahi ends up doing all his communicating for him, messaging the other Karasuno members with updates, messaging his coach, emailing his parents.

Asahi learns that practice is on tomorrow, but that Yuu is excused. When he tells Yuu, his love stiffens and shakes his head. “’Course I’m going.”

“You’re not ready to play,” replies Asahi, suddenly worried that Yuu will push it in his race towards normalcy. But the libero nods.

“I know. But I should still be there. I _want_ to be there.”

“Okay. But I’m going with you.”

Yuu blinks. “What about work?”

“I took the week off.”

“Asahi! You only get two weeks’ vacation a year, you should –”

“Yuu,” he says, softly. “You’re far more important than anything else could possibly be.”

Yuu stops, looks up at him with those same, searching eyes. 

“Really,” insists Asahi, expecting protest, expecting the sudden flare of oil in a pan. But:

“Okay,” says Yuu. And he turns and looks back to whatever he’s reading on his laptop. Around them, the apartment is unnervingly silent.

  
***

Yuu skips classes the next day, taking the bus at three to arrive for practice at four. Asahi goes with him, making sure Yuu takes the inside seat, watching for any sign of distress. Yuu is quiet, but otherwise no different.

They arrive at campus at five to four, crossing from the bus stop to the gym. Yuu doesn’t have his gym shoes – they haven’t been returned by the police yet – so he cleans his outdoor ones before entering instead. 

Even right at four most of the team is already present, spread out on the floor stretching. Yuu strolls in with his bandaged hands and his old shoes like it’s no big deal, like he’s never missed a thing. “So, I’m back,” he says, as he comes in.

It only takes a second for chaos to break out on the court, players scrambling to their feet. The first string is fastest, Yuu’s closest friends, bolting over the distance between them and pulling him into a tight knot of hugs and tears. Asahi stands back and watches as each of the players rotates through to have his time beside Yuu, to ruffle his hair or punch his bicep or bump his fist – as if without that tangible contact, his return isn’t real.

Watching from the outside, it’s easy to spot Suoh Nozomi. He’s the only one who hasn’t come forward; he’s watching white-faced from several meters back, lip caught between his teeth, eyes wet. 

The coach comes over after a few minutes and breaks up the celebration, sending the players back to their exercises and drawing Yuu over to the side of the court to chat; Asahi follows and listens while Yuu gives an update on his health – he’ll need the team’s doctor’s permission to start playing again, probably not for at least a week. With that agreed on Yuu and Asahi retreat to the bleachers, watching from the side as the team starts rotating through drills. Asahi can’t help but watch Suoh Nozomi, can’t help but notice how he’s regularly missing his serves and messing up his receives. 

The team transitions from drills to practice matches. The second-string libero is filling in for Yuu; to Asahi’s critical eyes he has raw potential but is so much less precise than Yuu, his movements full of waste. 

“What do you think?” asks Asahi, after the second match finishes. Yuu looks up at him, startled, and Asahi realises he hasn’t been watching the play at all. Asahi has never known Yuu not to be entirely focused on volleyball when presented with it. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah; fine.”

“Do you want to go home?”

Yuu glances at the clock. If he’d been paying attention to the matches, he would know without looking that practice isn’t finished yet. “There’s another game to go,” he says. 

“We don’t have to stay.”

“’Course we do,” replies Yuu.

  
***

After the game and the post-match meeting they climb down from the bleachers. Kozume comes over to welcome Yuu back privately. Several of the other players follow, each eager to see Yuu again. It’s only when they’re about to leave and the team is finishing with clean-up that Suoh Nozomi finally approaches.

“Nishinoya-san,” he says, although everyone on the team calls Yuu Noya, and almost certainly he did as well – until yesterday. Yuu turns, expression cautious. 

In front of the entire team, Suoh Nozomi gets down on his knees, then lowers himself into an abasing dogeza, forehead low, palms against the gym floor. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice weak, breaking. “I’m sorry for what Kaoru did, I’m sorry I ever let him come, I’m sorry I didn’t suspect something sooner. I’m so, so sorry, and –”

Yuu steps forward and squats down in front of him. He reaches out and puts his hand on top of Nozomi’s head, touch gentle. “Stop that, you moron. It’s not your fault.”

Asahi, watching from nearby, is aware that all movement in the gym has stopped. That everyone is watching this scene play out. But Yuu seems completely natural, amber eyes soft. 

“Of course it is. He’s my brother – my family – our name…” Nozomi’s voice is choked, teary. 

“Does your brother play volleyball?” asks Yuu; Asahi notices that he doesn’t use Kaoru’s name. 

Nozomi sniffs. “He did, a little. But not for a long time. It didn’t suit him.”

“I know – I could tell. No one who really loved volleyball would have done what he did. Because we’re all players, we all understand each other. I understand how much you love the game, Nozomi. And you understand how much I do. So believe me when I tell you that you’re different than him. You are many things he’ll never be. And you’re not responsible for him.”

On the floor, Nozomi looks up slowly. Tears are coursing down his cheeks, his face flushed an ugly shade. 

Yuu smiles. “And shouldn’t you be calling me Noya?” he asks.

“Noya-san!” Nozomi scrambles up off the floor and hugs him. He’s a giant compared to Yuu, but he cries into his shoulder like a baby while Yuu holds him, patting his back. 

“It’s okay, man. It’s okay.”

All around them, the other players go back to cleaning the gym and taking down the equipment. 

Only Asahi notices the stiffness in Yuu’s spine.

  
***

Asahi and Yuu walk to the bus stop in the cold March air. It’s almost seven and the campus is mostly empty, the sky dark. The walkway is lit by streetlamps but they’re spread well apart, plenty of patches of darkness between them. Asahi sticks close to Yuu.

“Did you mean that?” Asahi asks. “That you knew Suoh Kaoru didn’t play? Or did you just say it to make Nozomi-kun feel better?”

“Of course I meant it!” But Yuu’s smile slides off after a minute, and he shrugs. “I knew because I was able to break free. I wouldn’t have, if he had played. He would have anticipated me.”

Asahi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Daichi didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“It’s pretty blurry, but when the cops showed up Suoh dragged me out with a syringe poking into my throat – I don’t know what was in it, and I don’t want to. But it stopped the cops dead. I was too out of it to know what to do – I didn’t even really understand what was happening. But Suoh gave them an opening and Daichi prompted me by shouting for a chance ball. I leaned down to receive, and the police were able to drag Suoh off me.”

Asahi shivers. “It sounds terrifying.”

“It wasn’t, really. I was too far under to understand what was happening. I guess I should feel lucky.”

“Of course not,” replies Asahi. “You –”

But Yuu isn’t listening. They’ve come to a dark section of the walk near the east gate, and suddenly Yuu shies up against Asahi, his hand searching out his boyfriend’s, fingers trembling. “Yuu?”

“Here,” he says, hoarsely. “It was here.”

“Do you remember –”

Yuu backs into Asahi, his arm stiff as steel between them. He’s scared. Terrified. Asahi pulls him in closer with his free hand; Yuu’s fingers are crushing his. “Okay,” says Asahi, trying to keep his voice low, calm. “It’s okay. He’s locked up, Yuu. He’ll never be here again.”

Yuu’s breathing hard, the sounds of his breathing audible in the quiet night. “It’s all over now. It’s over. You’re safe. I’m right here and you’re safe.”

Yuu looks up to him, eyes so wide his irises are ringed with white. “Take me home,” he says. 

Asahi wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the east gate and the bus stop beyond.

  
***

They don’t talk on the bus, just sit pressed close, side to side with their fingers intertwined. Yuu’s breathing has calmed now, his eyes no longer impossibly wide, but Asahi can still sense the fear in him. It makes his skin burn, makes his heart pound nails into his ribcage.

At home Yuu climbs onto the love seat – not his usual red leather chair – and sits with his knees drawn up while Asahi makes tea to warm him. When he brings the steaming mugs over Yuu is curled up with his chin resting on his knees, sharp eyes staring at the far wall. 

“Yuu?”

Yuu blinks and looks up, eyes searching again. Asahi comes around the front of the sofa and sits, handing Yuu his tea. “What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Looking for?”

“You look like you’re trying to find something. You have ever since we got home this morning.”

Yuu sips the tea slowly, fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug. He turns to stare down into the tea, watching the dark leaves settle at the bottom. Asahi waits patiently, and eventually after another few sips he speaks. “I feel like I’m not me anymore. I’ve forgotten how to be cheerful; I’ve forgotten how to be fearless. If I’m not either of those things – who am I? How can you do all of these things for me, when I’m not even me?”

Asahi feels his heart wrench, his breathing catch. “Yuu –”

Yuu turns, eyes flashing, wide and distressed. “Suoh thought he knew me – thought he loved me. Well, now maybe _you_ think you know me, think you love me. But I’m not the same person – you can see it, can’t you?”

Asahi puts down his tea and reaches out, curling his fingers around Yuu’s hand. “Of course I can see your fear, love. That doesn’t make you someone else, it just makes you human. Anyone would have been terrified after what happened. There’s no way you could just be your usual self after this. I would never expect it – or believe it. Fear like this takes time to overcome. There’s no shortcut.”

“I hate it. I hate being afraid. It feels like I lost to him. Like he’s won. Now he’s even making me doubt you.” He looks up, eyes troubled. 

Asahi knows the very real power fear and intimidation have. Knows the damage memories of defeat can cause. He squeezes Yuu’s fingers softly. “We’ll get through it. I love you, Yuu, and nothing that’s happened could possibly change that. It’s fine to be afraid, it’s perfectly natural. I’d rather you tell me what you’re feeling. I don’t want you to be afraid alone.” He pulls Yuu’s hand free from the mug, gently, and raises his bandaged fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. 

Hesitantly Yuu smiles, just a tiny uptick of his lips. Asahi counts it as a victory.

  
***

Asahi takes Yuu to university for the rest of the week, returning home in the day and then travelling back to the campus in the evening to sit beside him and watch the evening practice. They go home together every evening, although now they take a different route to the east gate.

After the first day Yuu cheers up, smiling more and losing the lost, searching look in his eyes except when startled. Daichi and Suga talk about how well he’s recovering; Hinata and Kageyama come over to goof around and compliment him on his careless grin. 

Tanaka comes down that weekend, spending the days with Yuu while Asahi goes into work to do some catch-up. The two of them horse around as always, but when Tanaka leaves he draws Asahi aside. “He’s different, now,” he says.

Asahi nods. “I know.”

“He’s trying to hide it. But the bastard’s still in his head.”

“He’ll put it behind him. You know how strong he is. I’ve talked to him about seeing a counsellor; the inspector suggested it. It might help.”

“Don’t let him forget how important he is. And how loved,” orders Tanaka, the way he probably orders athletes in his gym to do ten more reps or add another five kilos of weight. But when he catches Asahi’s eye and remembers who he’s talking to he colours.

“Don’t worry,” replies Asahi. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

  
***

Spring comes suddenly the next week, the first buds of the plum trees opening pink and plump on naked branches. It will be White Day tomorrow, and although Asahi’s sure Yuu’s forgotten about it, he hasn’t. He’s already found the perfect gift.

He’s back at work this week, but Kozume is meeting Yuu at the bus stop every day and walking him to class, as well as back again after practice. Yuu’s been cleared to come back on the court starting tomorrow. 

White Day dawns crisp and clear, Asahi making coffee for both of them while Yuu showers. He presses close up to Asahi when he comes in from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling of citrus and mint. But despite his ease with their closeness he’s lost some of his playfulness, his effortless magnetism. Asahi kisses his cheek while he pours out the coffee and Yuu smiles at him, taking it over to the table. 

They eat breakfast, rinse the dishes, and head out. 

The day passes by quickly; Asahi has a lot of work piled up from last week’s impromptu holiday, and the hours fly by as he deals with it. He leaves a little early to go to the store to get his present for Yuu; he takes it home and puts it in the bedroom while he prepares dinner.

Yuu comes back at 8 on the dot, smiling. “First day of practice,” he says, and it’s clear from his attitude it went well. “Like riding a bicycle,” he says, stretching his back. “Won all three practice matches.”

Asahi smiles at him. “Good work.” He switches the heat off on the stove. “I, um, got you something. I mean, it’s kind of for us, really. But… I thought you’d like it.”

Yuu’s eyebrows rise. “A present?”

Asahi nods. “For White Day.”

“Oh geez, I totally forgot. I can run out now and grab something – some wine, or –”

Asahi leans down and presses his forehead against Yuu’s. “Yuu. It doesn’t matter. I got it for you because I thought you’d like it, not because of White Day. And I like it too.”

“Hmm, mysterious.”

“Come on,” says Asahi. He leads the way to the bedroom, opening the door slowly. “It’s in here.”

Yuu follows, looking around for a gift. Asahi glances around and doesn’t see it. He gets down on his hands and knees and looks under the bed. “Here,” he says, softly. 

Yuu, frowning in curiosity now, comes in and gets down beside him.

Together, they look in at the little kitten sitting under the bed. She looks back up at them, her eyes very blue. She’s black with an orange splash of fur on her forehead, just like Yuu’s hair. “She reminded me of you,” says Asahi. He reaches out and the kitten gets up, coming over slowly to sniff at his hand. Yuu puts his fingers – no longer bandaged – in, and she sniffs them, too, whiskers brushing over the skin. 

Asahi looks to Yuu, who’s staring with wide eyes at the little creature. “We can take her back, if you don’t like her. But I thought… it might be nice to have something to look after. Something to love.”

The kitten comes out and Yuu scoops her up, putting her on his lap. She sits down and starts to purr as he pets her. “She’s perfect,” says Yuu, softly. 

“She’ll need a name, of course,” smiles Asahi. “You should choose one.”

Yuu looks up, face lighting up. “Really?”

Asahi nods. 

Yuu strokes the kitten’s head with two fingers, slicking down the fur between her ears. “Then… Chance.”

“Really? Not… I don’t know, Ripper, or Clawdia, or Spike?” he asks, bemused.

Yuu shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Chance. ‘Cause she’ll make everything alright.” He looks up at Asahi, smiling gently, genuinely. “Right?”

Asahi slips an arm over his shoulders, drawing him – and the kitten – in close. “Right,” he whispers in Yuu’s ear.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed~


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